


None of us Perfect

by elismor



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Attack of the Clones, Gen, OC, OFC - Freeform, star wars prequels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elismor/pseuds/elismor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: Was Shmi Skywalker's death merely a twist of bad luck, or was something else going on? In the days following the battle at Geonosis, Obi-Wan Kenobi follows a friend to Tatooine to investigate.</p><p> </p><p>TIME PERIOD: Post-Attack of the Clones (contains spoilers)<br/>TYPE: A little mystery, some adventure, and a lot of angsty conversation<br/>WARNINGS: This story does not contain graphic violence or sex. Matter of fact, it doesn't contain sex of any kind. It does, however, contain perhaps the most heinous of fanfic offenses: an Original Female Character. If it will make you feel better, go ahead and do a universal search and replace her name with Mary Sue. I won't mind.<br/>DISCLAIMER: If you recognize them, they belong to Lucas. If you don't, they're mine. No harm, no foul, no monetary compensation.<br/>ARCHIVE: Please let me know if you would like to do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _This story was originally posted in July of 2002. It was moved to A03 in May of 2015 for archival purposes._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Background information on the Jedi Order, the Republic, Yatir, Tatooine and her inhabitants, and the Clone War was gleaned from the following sources: starwars.com Databank, theforce.net unofficial encyclopedia, the novelizations of Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones, and multiple viewings of the movies. Some details were pulled from EU information available at the sites listed above.
> 
> The idea that drives the plot of this piece was posted on alt.fan.starwars as a possible theory about the death of Shmi Skywalker. Unfortunately, I do not recall who posted it, but I will step up right now and admit that the idea was not my own. I just ran with it.
> 
> With great thanks to my wonderful beta readers: comet, deb, Virginia, Sandra, and Harlene, all of whom went above and beyond. Repeatedly. And with unending gratitude to GH for a line that still lingers in me, many years after it was spoken.
> 
> This is for Susan, who wheedled, cajoled, pushed, poked, and prodded with relentless focus. And for Vance, who knows a cool Jedi when he sees one; even at the very tender age of seven.

Bel Eliel Jensei shifted uncomfortably in her bed. She'd spent seven days there so far, though the first three were merely a blur of pain and confusion, and it looked like she'd miss several more Coruscant sun rises while being treated for her wounds. Rumor on the ward was that she'd taken no less than six blaster pulses to her body in the battle against the droid army on Geonosis and the rumor--brought to her by one of the apprentice Healers--amused Eliel when she was feeling well enough to indulge in humor.

The truth of the matter was that it only took three shots to put her on the ground. Three was more than enough to kill. Nerilu, after all, was taken from her with only one. All her training at the academy, all of the lessons learned through trial, error, effort, and perseverance, all her skill with the Force, and all of her ability in battle failed in that instant; leaving Eliel staring in open-mouthed shock at the bloody heap of her Padawan's body on the dusty ground of the arena.

There were a million things she would change about that day if given the chance. Though, try as she might, Eliel could not determine if anything short of leaving her student back on Tolc-sil would change the ultimate outcome. In the haze of fever, she believed that any number of choices could have saved Nerilu. In the serenity of a healing trance, she knew that the girl's fate was immutable. But, in the middle of the night on the critical care ward of the Healer Hall the only thing that mattered was a swirling mass of physical pain and emotional loss.

Jedi Knights were not supposed to succumb to their emotions. Whether through a supreme effort of will or a mastery of meditation, she was supposed to be composed through times like this. She was supposed to trust in the ways of the universe and the will of the Force.

Instead, Eliel Jensei raged silently, bound by the borders of the critical care ward and her sense of duty.

Anger made it difficult for Master Ando to manipulate the Force through her during healing sessions. Anger blocked her own flow of energy in both her body and her place within the web of the Force. Anger was detrimental and counterproductive, at best. Anger, though, was far better than the cold and bottomless well of grief that opened in her gut whenever she remembered that she would never see Nerilu Hic's face again.

She drew in as deep a breath as her wounded chest would allow, preparing to make an attempt at meditation. But as Eliel cast her awareness into the Force, another presence presented itself. The ward was awash with the closeness of the many Jedi recovering from battle wounds, but this one--this bright and powerful spark--stood out among them.

Anakin Skywalker, the purported Chosen One, was at it again. Every night since she'd regained consciousness, Eliel felt Obi-Wan Kenobi's Padawan pace the halls until exhaustion overtook him. When meditating, she sometimes fell victim to wayward images from the young man's mind and what she saw disturbed her greatly. Skywalker was a simmering pot of emotions, most of which rivaled her own in scope.

If the boy were the Padawan of anyone else, she would not dare to meddle. But she knew Anakin's Master--quite well, in fact--and, though not privy to the intimate details of their relationship was well versed in the walls that could be built between Master and apprentice. Obi-Wan was no doubt aware of the barricades his student was busy erecting. He was also, Eliel knew, precisely the one person who was least likely to pass either through or around.

She extended her good hand toward the door and flicked her wrist gently, using the Force to slide it open. Outside, Skywalker halted suddenly, his shadow dark against the beam of light streaming in from the hall.

"Anakin," she said. "Come in."

He squared himself to the door without answering and Eliel knew that Skywalker was busy contemplating the repercussions of annoying a patient under Master Ando's care.

"Master Jensei," he said, lowering his head respectfully, "I am sorry I disturbed you."

She offered a shrug from the confines of her bed, motioning him inside. "Your restlessness is contagious, it seems."

He crossed the room to the low stool by the bed and took the seat she offered. "How are you feeling, Master Jensei?"

Eliel shrugged once more. "Like I've been shot to pieces by battle droids."

Anakin gave a small chuckle and sat back in the chair, visibly relieved by her jest. "You were, Master Jensei."

She held up the first three fingers of her left hand and smiled at him. "Three hits. No matter what they tell you."

"Three is a few too many, in my book," Anakin answered, smiling himself.

His smile was infectious when genuine and had been since his earliest days at the temple. The Council protested him as a candidate for training, insisting that the boy was too old and undisciplined to be safely educated in the ways of the Jedi. At the time, she had agreed. Even at the tender age of ten, Anakin Skywalker was in possession of a power that was palpable and Eliel had seriously questioned her friend's choice to take the boy as apprentice--as first apprentice, especially. But, despite her reservations about the wisdom of Obi-Wan's decision, she'd liked Anakin from the start, sensing a somewhat kindred spirit in the boy.

"Mine too," she admitted.

"You're looking much better than..." he trailed off, but his thoughts were plain to her.

"The last time you saw me, I had a sucking chest wound, Anakin," she finished. "I hope I look considerably better than that."

He looked down, frowning in embarrassment.

Eliel gave him a moment to gather himself, then offered another smile. "Your thoughts are rather transparent when you are unsettled, Anakin. I would wager that even the coma patients are dreaming of Senator Amidala."

Anakin's gaze shifted upwards sharply and he flushed, then turned his eyes downward again to avoid the amusement in her grey-blue eyes.

"Breathe," she said. "Focus on your breath and your thoughts will be calmed."

Anakin nodded, no doubt glad to slip back into the familiarity of taking direction from one of his superiors and Eliel made note of his reaction to her mention of the Senator from Naboo. The thoughts leaking from Anakin Skywalker were more than just idle indulgences, then.

"It seems that I will be luckier than you," she said after a short while. "They tell me that my hand will heal, though perhaps not well enough to wield a lightsaber."

Anakin looked down at the skeletal prosthetic the Healers had affixed to his ruined arm. He flexed the fingers of it experimentally and they clacked against one another in the stillness of the room. He, too, would be learning to fight with his off hand. "It's not so bad," he said. "I've always been good with mechanoids."

She nodded. "Much to your Master's dismay."

"Master Obi-Wan..." he trailed off, frowning.

"Is doing the best he can with a Padawan who is headstrong and powerful," she finished.

He looked up again and Eliel watched as memory slid across his face. The distraction of Padme Amidala's name had caused him to forget whom he was speaking with, for the moment.

"That was not meant as a reproach, Anakin," she added gently. "It is merely a statement of fact."

Anakin spent a long time staring at the space between them in the room before answering. "I think he would place more emphasis on headstrong than powerful, Master Jensei."

Jensei nodded, smiling in agreement. "He has yet to see the full strength of your abilities. Until he does, you will be his willful Padawan."

"I don't think he'll ever see anything but."

She drew a breath to answer, but it caught in her wounded chest and sent her into a spasm of pain.

Anakin was on his feet instantly, moving toward her, ready to help. But she held up her bandaged arm and shook her head, too busy trying to breathe to speak. He stopped short, halfway between the chair and her bed.

"I'll call one of the Healers," he said.

She shook her head, simultaneously making a curt gesture with her hand. "No. Just give me a moment."

Eliel closed her eyes and steadied her breathing as best she could, making an attempt to reach into the Force and balance herself. It wasn't working, though, and she scowled mightily as the pain increased instead. The last thing she wanted or needed was another unscheduled session with Ando--not at this hour, not after the day she'd spent listening to him lecture her about taking better care.

Without warning, a wave of warmth washed through her, easing the whiteness of her pain and restoring the ability to breathe. Eliel sank back into the relative comfort of her pillows and simply reveled in the sensation for a moment before opening her eyes and leveling an intense gaze at her companion.

Anakin was responsible. Without a thought to seek permission he'd used his own ability to smooth some of the roughness, easing her pain away from her body and sending it outwards into the vast matrix of the Force itself.

He caught her eyes for a moment, then hung his head in shyness, staring down at his moccasins.

"Thank you," she said.

"Master Obi-Wan would not be pleased."

"He needn't know," she answered.

He looked up, wearing a somewhat skeptical expression. "You won't..."

Eliel shook her head. "That is no way to express gratitude."

A ripple of relief went visibly through his posture and Anakin offered her a wide smile of thanks.

"It comes with a price, though," she held up a finger and watched as the expression crumbled. "Listen to this one thing that I will tell you without being asked. This is my only free advice to you, Anakin Skywalker, and you would be wise to heed it."

"Yes, Master Jensei."

"Your emotions are strong when it comes to your Master. But they are also conflicted. Work through them, Anakin. Peace does not come from the absence of emotion, but rather from the managing of it. Do not shut him out. You cannot compartmentalize your feelings and hope to find solace."

"Yes, Master Jensei."

She snorted softly, well versed in the dutiful, yet hollow tone of a Padawan reciting what he thought the Master wished to hear. "Go on," she said. "Ando is on his way from the pharmacy with more of that vile concoction to spread on my wounds. If he catches you here..."

Anakin nodded and moved toward the door. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Master Jensei. And...I'm sorry for your loss. For Nerilu."

"Thank you, Anakin," she answered, knowing that her own tone was flat with the effort to mask true feeling.

He paused at the door and seemed about to speak, but Eliel hardened her expression and Anakin, well tuned as he was to the intricacies of social exchange with a Jedi Knight, merely offered a small bow before exiting her chamber.

****

 

Eliel Jensei was submerged in a bacta tank when Obi-Wan Kenobi finally found a moment to visit her. Her wounds were plainly visible, even in the murky greenness of the fluid, and the blaster marks were raw and angry against her skin. They stood in startling, vivid contrast to the peaceful expression she was sporting around her breather mask and he found himself smiling. Eliel had always been a water rat.

"You will have to wait until the treatment is done," Master Ando said gruffly, brushing past the Jedi Knight to examine the screen on the tank.

"Of course," he answered. Ando was cantankerous, even on the best of days, but he was undoubtedly the most talented Healer in the galaxy. If Eliel had been under anyone else's care, her mere survival would have been miraculous. Tended by Ando, it could be expected that she would recover fully and return to her duties.

"She will be with you shortly," the Healer added. "You may wait for her in the atrium. But I warn you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, do not tax my patient's strength. She is not as well as she might have you believe."

"Of course, Master Ando." He turned to leave, but the Healer caught him by the elbow with a surprising grip.

"You, too, would do well to rest. You were wounded on Geonosis as well."

"I remember, Master Ando," he smiled.

"And **I** remember," the Healer scowled, "how you two were when you were children. Do not think that you are above my reproach now simply because of your age."

"Never, Master Ando," Obi-Wan smiled again, this time fighting hard to keep it from erupting into a full-blown grin. Ando could not see it, but Eliel was making faces worthy of any nine-year-old apprentice behind him in the tank.

"Go," Ando ordered. "She will join you soon."

He retired quickly to the atrium of the Healer Hall and strolled among the gardens there, taking the time to simply breathe in the quiet of the place. Somehow, amidst the bustling and swirling mass of life on Coruscant, this space always seemed to remain tranquil. It was high in one of the four outer spires of the Jedi temple and windows ran the length of the outside wall, letting in the sunlight that was rarely seen on the lower levels of the city-planet. Here, fountains splashed, orchids grew, and peace prevailed, even at the outset of a war that would undoubtedly change the face of the galaxy forever.

Eliel kept gardens. Well, a small one, anyway; supported by growth lamps and by her tending with the Force. He'd seen it once, while on a mission to Alderaan with Qui-Gon. "It keeps me mindful," she'd said, "of the fact that I came close to being sent to the agri-corps."

Indeed, his friend had come dangerously close to being denied the opportunity to be apprenticed to a Jedi Knight. During term break of their eleventh year, she'd broken into the databanks, cracked open sealed files and downloaded forbidden information, with Obi-Wan at her side every step of the way. He'd never been accused of being her accomplice, though. Perhaps Eliel had buried the details of his participation so deeply that none but the most powerful Jedi Masters could have found it. It seemed more likely, though, that Yoda had discovered his involvement and chosen to ignore it for reasons privy only to himself. Shortly after the caper, they'd been split apart and assigned to Masters known to avoid association. To this day, Obi-Wan did not know if this was by luck or design.

He turned suddenly, sensing her presence nearby. Every being had a unique imprint within the woven threads of the Force and Eliel's was at once familiar and strange, edged as it was with white-hot points of pain.

Ordinarily, she wore a high collared shirt under her tunic and robes, even in the heat of summer. It covered her neck all the way to the base of her jaw and ears, gathering in soft folds. Here in the critical care ward, though, she was clad in the common v-necked gown worn by all patients and Obi-Wan was visually reminded that her neck was decorated with an intricate series of tattoos spiraling down from her hairline and disappearing under the fabric of her shirt. The inking was done in shades of blue and green, calling images of waves sharply to mind.

"You should sit down," he said.

She waved him off as he moved to take her arm and guide her to a bench. "I have been sitting in a bed for ten days. I am tired of sitting. I am tired of Ando slathering me with potions that smell worse than the gutters at street level. And I am very tired, Obi-Wan, of young Anakin Skywalker's dreams invading my own."

"Pardon?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"He paces the halls at night," she answered. "And he is roiling with emotion. Enough so that it affects everyone in his path. Anguish. Anger. Love."

He had been studying the curves of her bare toes against the cool stone of the path as Eliel spoke, but her last word drew his eye up sharply. "What?"

She nodded. "Senator Amidala."

Obi-Wan clenched a fist against his thigh. He'd known it was a bad idea to send the boy to Naboo alone, even though Master Yoda had insisted upon it. Where was Anakin now? He'd put a stop to this before...before Yoda sent them back to Naboo once more, as he knew was the Master's plan.

"Wait," she put a restraining hand on his forearm. "That is the least of your worries, I think."

"It is forbidden for Jedi to..."

"I know the rules," she interrupted. "Please, just listen to me?"

Her brown hair, still wet from Ando's treatment, was slicked back against her skull, affording him a clear view of her face. It was pale and drawn, but her blue eyes were steely as ever and her jaw was set in a tired version of the familiar stubborn manner, imploring him to cooperate.

He nodded once, slowly.

"You know that his mother is dead?" It was a question that came nearly in the form of a statement; a courtesy, for it was assumed that a Master knew all that his Padawan did.

"Yes. She was killed on Tatooine, by Tusken raiders."

Eliel nodded. "The images in his mind, though...they're not of a random attack. She was beaten."

"The Tuskens are a brutish race," he answered. "They're known for attacking the moisture farmers and any who are foolish enough to wander into their territory."

"Exactly."

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Eliel?"

"Shmi Skywalker spent her entire life on that planet, yes? She was not foolish enough to wander into such dangerous places, I'd wager."

"Anakin said that she was taken while collecting mushrooms from the vaporators."

"Taken," she repeated. "Those images he sees, they're not of random violence, Obi-Wan. At least not the ones I am getting from him. She was tied to a rack. Tortured. I had Master Jocasta bring me the data crystals on the Tuskens. Something is not right with this."

"Eliel," he soothed, "you're hurt...and you're..."

"Do not bring her name into this," she cut him off sharply.

Obi-Wan stepped backwards, moving unconsciously away from the wash of grief that spun out from her frame. It shook him, bringing forth his own emotions about the losses they had suffered at Geonosis. Many of his friends had died in that arena. Many great Jedi had fallen in a time when the Republic needed them most. But his Padawan had walked away. Had lived to battle Count Dooku and survived even that.

Nerilu Hic, just eighteen years old, had been cut down by a blast fired from Jango Fett's pistol. Clever, hideous man that he was, the Bounty Hunter had known that apprentices would strive to protect their Masters. His first shot ripped through the flesh of her forearm and wrist, neatly blowing Eliel's lightsaber from her hand while she was focused on the approaching battle droids. It was calculated to wound, not to kill. The second, fired in rapid succession but with all-together different intent, had taken the life of her Padawan instantly.

He waited; giving her a moment to compose herself, then took his friend by her good arm and steered her toward the nearby bench. "I'm sorry, Eliel."

"It's not your fault," she sighed.

Oh, but it was. Had he been more careful, more vigilant, he might not have been captured on Geonosis. True, the Jedi that died that day had come for reasons apart from his rescue, but there could be no denying the fact that had he not been caught in the first place, things would have gone very differently with the Geonosian Droid Army.

"Sit," he said. And, to his surprise, she did, pulling him down beside her.

"He is very talented, your Skywalker," Eliel said. "And he is very powerful. He's angry, though. And, right now, his love for the Senator is keeping that anger in check. We have to help him."

"Anakin is my..." he caught himself on the verge of saying problem, swallowing the word instead. "I will deal with him. You should concern yourself with healing."

"So long as he paces the halls at night," she answered with a wry smile, "so long as I am trapped here with Ando and his potions, Anakin Skywalker is my concern as well. Please, Obi-Wan. I could not save my student. Let me help you save yours."

"I..." he paused, thinking. "Eliel..." She had only ever asked him for one other thing. He hadn't refused her then and the result had been her near expulsion from the Jedi Order. "Eliel, the Republic is about to go to war. I will be needed. We will be needed."

"You are needed now, by a boy who has more power in him than you and I combined. This is a crucial time for Skywalker. The war will happen, whether or not you are there to see the first shots fired. Do not trade him--do not trade a boy--for the Republic, or for the Order."

He sat back, shocked by both her vehemence and her words. Some, he knew, would consider them traitorous to both the Republic and the Jedi. Frankly, he wasn't sure he disagreed.

"Anakin will do what is asked of him," he said, at length. "He is loyal to the Republic. He is loyal to the Order."

"And I," she stood suddenly, her back straight and jaw set firmly, "am a maverick who questions the way of things and is never more than two steps from the agri-corps. Your meaning is taken. Go fight your war."


	2. Chapter 2

Finally. Finally he was going to be given a mission. The army of the Republic was already beginning to deploy in preparation for battle with the separatists. Plans were being made. War was brewing. And he had spent the three days since his conversation with Eliel in a curious state between bursting with anticipation and dropping from exhaustion. Even though the Jedi had yet to be dispatched into the Clone War, as it was being called, Obi-Wan Kenobi lacked the luxury of relaxation.

First, there had been a mad scramble to find Anakin and...discuss the news Eliel had shared about the Padawan's love for the Senator from Naboo. He'd failed, though. Without so much as a by-your-leave, Anakin had taken it upon himself to escort Padme Amidala back to her homeworld. Their ship had been departing even as Eliel was dressing him down for his loyalty to the Republic.

Then, there was a series of attempts to reconcile with his old friend. All were rebuked by Master Ando, who also took the opportunity--every time--to reprimand him sternly for the state Eliel was in on her return from their conversation.

Between his visits to the Healer Hall, Obi-Wan had been sent on no less than a hundred errands for Master Yoda and Master Windu; running messages between the Jedi temple and the Republic Executive Offices in a manner that was, he thought, more suited to a lesser trained Jedi. Or, better yet, to one of the apprentices currently slotted for just such duties. Anakin would have run the messages gladly, he thought. The boy had a rapport with Chancellor Palpatine and probably would have enjoyed the chance to deliver correspondence about what would surely go down in history as a major event in the galaxy.

But Anakin was on Naboo. Playing footsie with the Senator in some peaceful meadow, no doubt.

Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath and gathered himself, easing calm through his body as the blood flowed through his veins. There would be time to deal with Anakin later. Right now, he was about to get his orders. He'd been summoned to Yoda's chambers at first light, before he'd even had time to grab a bite to eat. This must be important.

Master Yoda was deep in concentration when Obi-Wan was escorted into the room and he took a moment to simply study the venerable Jedi. Few of the Order had been lucky enough to witness what Obi-Wan had on Geonosis--it was rare that Yoda took up his lightsaber in battle. Rare and... stunning. To look at him, one might be hard pressed to guess that the small creature--barely two feet tall--was a mighty warrior. But mighty he was.

"A visit I have had," Yoda said, suddenly, his large eyes turning to Obi-Wan.

"Master?"

"A visit," Yoda repeated, pursing his lips together for a moment, "from your old friend Jensei. Discuss your Padawan, we did."

Obi-Wan's heart plummeted into his stomach, taking the opportunity to do a neat flip-flop in his chest along the way. This wasn't an assignment for the war. It was to be another reprimand; probably a sterner one than Ando could ever hope to deliver.

"Worried, she is," Yoda continued. "Something in the boy, she senses. Spoken with you of this, she has."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Master Yoda. Eliel believes..." he trailed off, searching for a way to phrase what his friend had shared. In the days since their conversation, he'd spent a considerable amount of time trying to discern just what she had been asking of him. Certainly, she'd made it clear that she wished to help Anakin deal with his emotions. But, beyond that, he wasn't sure what it was she had in mind.

"Believes young Skywalker is in danger, she does. Correct, she is."

He lowered his eyes. "Yes, Master Yoda."

Yoda sighed and moved toward Obi-Wan, his cane clacking softly on the marble floor. "Difficult it is to see the boy's future. Clouded the Force is around him. An excellent job you have done with him, Obi-Wan. An easy student, he is not."

That, Obi-Wan smiled, was an understatement. "Thank you, Master Yoda. I do try."

Yoda nodded and continued to pace toward him. "Requested your help, Bail Organa has. Jensei's, too. Wants you on Alderaan during this war, he does."

"It would be my pleasure to assist the Viceroy of Alderaan any way that I can," he answered. "And I know that Eliel will be more than happy to return there."

In fact, Obi-Wan knew that Eliel considered the pastoral planet as close to home as a Jedi could, having been stationed there during her training with Master Jorus C'baoth while he was assigned to arbitrate Organa's rise to the throne.

"Gone to Tatooine, she has." Yoda stopped pacing suddenly and turned to look out one of the windows.

"Tatooine, Master?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"Believes, she does, that there is more to the story of Shmi Skywalker's death. Crucial, I think, is her mission."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, trying to work through the information Yoda was supplying. What could possibly be crucial about the death of Shmi Skywalker, tragic as it was? "I believe," he said finally, "that Anakin's mother was simply a victim of chance. Of bad luck."

Yoda turned to him, his small face grave. "There is no luck. There is only the will of the Force and the will of those who try to manipulate it."

He dropped his eyes once more. "But how, Master, has the Force been used against Shmi Skywalker? She was attacked by Tusken Raiders."

Yoda pursed his lips again and closed his eyes in concentration. After a moment, he thumped his cane against the marble and looked up at Obi-Wan. "A weak minded and brutal race. Easily manipulated. Easily pushed toward the Dark Side, they are."

Suddenly, pieces began to fall into place for him. "Eliel thinks that someone made the Tuskens kidnap Shmi? To get to Anakin? Who?"

"If we knew that," Yoda's expression turned to something resembling a smile, "going to Tatooine after her you would not be."

"You want me to go to Tatooine, Master?"

Yoda nodded. "Weak, she is, from her wounds. From her loss. Your help she will need, if she is to return to us...if we are to know more about Skywalker and his path. Attend to her you must, Obi-Wan. Duties there are for you and Eliel to fulfill. Here this war will be, upon your return."

He nodded, folding his hands against his waist and bowing slightly. "Yes, Master Yoda."

****

 

As a Jedi, Eliel Jensei was trained to be impartial. She spent many long hours learning to weigh each and every situation with parity in mind. Every one and every thing was to be examined from both sides if a clear, fair opinion was to be formed. It was their ability to be objective that allowed the Jedi to arbitrate disputes. It was their lack of personal attachment to a particular person, place, or ideal that made the Order what it was, that leant them credibility in the eyes of the Republic and gave them their status.

These lessons were drummed into her at both the Academy on Coruscant and by her own Master, Jorus C'baoth, while they were stationed on Alderaan during Bail Organa's tumultuous ascent to leadership. Jorus was known throughout the Republic as a great arbitrator of races and he took the time to instill his beliefs in Eliel as best he could. She, too, was skilled at diplomacy when the situation warranted. Moreover, she held tight to the tenet that the many races of the Republic were equal and deserved equal attention and representation. In theory, this is what the Galactic Senate was for. In practice, things often fell short.

With her lessons in mind, Eliel gave the desert planet of Tatooine every chance she could before coming to the irrevocable conclusion that she hated it passionately. Sand. Everywhere. Sand in her clothes, her eyes, her nose, and her food. Sand underfoot both outside and in. And not a lick of shade to be found anywhere on the entire blessed planet.

She began to sweat the moment her ship touched down at the Mos Eisley space port and continued to shed precious hydration all throughout the day while she searched for someone who could point her in the right direction. Finding the coordinates of the Lars moisture farm was easy enough; the family was well known, especially in the wake of their recent tragedy. But, before she set out across the endless stretches of dunes, Eliel wanted more information about the Tuskens. Someone must know more than what the Jedi holocrystals had stored in the great library. Someone on the miserable planet must have learned more practical things about the race. Someone, she reasoned, had to have a better answer than "stay away from those animals" when questioned about the Tuskens.

They lived in family oriented groups. They had domesticated animals and, according to the holocrystals, a rich oral tradition. The Tuskens had culture. They were no more animals than the Wookies. And odds were good that they smelled better. They almost had to.

But no one in Mos Eisley seemed to agree.

She should, she supposed, be back on Coruscant under the ministrations of Master Ando while she awaited her assignment for the early days of the war. Obi-Wan, dear, dutiful Obi-Wan, was probably already on his first mission; eager to right wrongs and preserve the Republic.

He'd been reckless, once; when they were younger and flushed with the excitement of mastering the use of the Force. She'd sensed a kindred spirit in him the moment they met in the cafeteria assigned to young Jedi apprentices. Quick to question, quicker to over estimate their own burgeoning abilities, they'd become fast friends. He'd even helped her break one of the cardinal rules in the Order, once.

But time had changed them both. Time, training…experiences that could not be shared from opposite ends of the Republic. It was not coincidence, she supposed, that she was taken in by a Master who preferred words to action when it came to solving problems while Obi-Wan was given Qui-Gon Jinn--a man noted for his own rebellions against the established way of doing things.

She loved her Master, admired him, and was loyal to what he'd instilled in her. Obi-Wan, she knew, held his fallen teacher just as dear. But the plan--for she was convinced that their separation and assignments were just that--had backfired somewhat. Admire Jorus C'baoth as she might and dutiful as she had struggled to become, her time spent assisting in arbitration on Alderaan had only served to cement Bel Eliel Jensei's sense of resistance to the status quo.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had taken the freedom he was given by Qui-Gon and used it to mold himself a neat little path. Someday, she had no doubt, he would sit on the Council of Twelve.

Assuming, of course, that he was not completely defeated by the fact that his Padawan was likely to cause more trouble than the two of them put together at Anakin's age. Obi-Wan took his duties--his promise to Qui-Gon--far too seriously, placed entirely too much of his own self-worth on the boy and the outcome of his training. Chosen One or not, Anakin Skywalker walked a path that was for his feet alone. Any failures would be his own, not his Master's.

Unlike Nerilu, who had died because of Eliel's own inability to protect the girl. Failure at its most precise and painful. Failure: irrevocable and complete.

Eliel checked her thoughts with a physical gesture, slicing the air in front of her chest in a downward motion. This was not about Nerilu Hic. It was about Anakin Skywalker and, unless she got moving, the light of another bright Padawan would likely go dark.

Her comlink chirped suddenly and Eliel cocked her head to look at the small screen. She blinked at it twice, startled by the signature of the signal and tapped the unit gently to make certain it was functioning.

Obi-Wan? On Tatooine?

A smile came to her lips, as it always did when he made unexpected contact, but Eliel twisted it into a scowl with deliberate measure. She punched three keys in rapid sequence, dismissing his call in overt retaliation for his rejection of her concern for Anakin. He'd find her, eventually. And it might do him some good to take a long and sweaty trek through the dunes to do so.

It was doubtful that Obi-Wan was on Tatooine of his own volition. Master Yoda sent him, for certain; though the question of why still lingered. She was off duty--as much as a Jedi could ever be so--for several weeks in the wake of her injuries and loss. This trip was entirely on her own time and, despite the fact that she'd asked permission to go, entirely outside of the Council's jurisdiction. Unless he was there to recall her to Coruscant, then, Obi-Wan's presence suggested that Yoda found some merit in her theory regarding Shmi Skywalker's death. Enough merit, in fact, to make it worth sending two Jedi to a backwater planet during the early days of galactic war.

Take that, Kenobi.

****

 

The Lars' moisture farm was surrounded by an endless sea of dunes and sky. A small cluster of buildings that rose out of the sand and stood exposed to all that the elements of Tatooine had to offer, it was the very definition of remote.

Eliel scanned the place as her speeder slowed, wondering how anyone could choose to live their lives in such a wasteland. How could they stand to exist bereft of water and beaten upon by the twin suns? She could cope with heat, so long as there was humidity as well, but this place lacked even the barest hint of moisture. Her own homeworld, Cuan, was a watery, misty place and it must have left an indelible mark upon her at a very early age, for she'd always been more comfortable when water was present.

By the time the speeder came to a stop, a young man was waiting to greet her on the perimeter of the living area. He was stout, somewhat scruffy, and seemed both suspicious and annoyed by her interruption of his day.

"Are you Owen Lars?"

He nodded once. "Yes. Who wants to know?"

Eliel climbed out of the speeder and straightened her sweat-soaked robes. "I am Bel Eliel Jensei," she answered. "I've come to speak with your father, if I might."

"A Jedi," he said. His tone was dour and edged with suspicion.

Eliel nodded.

"All my life I've gone without so much as seeing one of your kind and now, suddenly, you're coming to my door in droves."

His feelings were clear enough, even without the benefit of examining his thoughts, but Eliel lowered her gaze and took a moment to skim the surface of the young man's mind. Images of Anakin Skywalker sprang forth, bringing ripples of resentment and anger along with them.

She shook them off with a shrug and looked at him once again. "I know that you are busy men. I will only take a few moments of your time, if your father will speak with me."

He eyed her warily, squinting against the brightness of the day, and, for a moment, Eliel thought that the boy was about to turn her away entirely. A call came from the house, breaking the tension neatly.

"Owen? Owen, who are you talking to?"

Eliel turned to the domed structure to her left. A young woman, clad in hues that matched the desert sand, stood in the doorway, shading her eyes with a hand. Eliel felt Owen's wall of hostility slip for a moment, allowing a small cascade of affection to shine through, and deduced that the girl must be his wife--or betrothed, at the very least.

"A Jedi," he answered. "Come to speak to Father."

"Well, don't leave her standing there to melt in the sun, Owen," she scolded. "Show her in. Perhaps she would like to join us for lunch."

"That would be lovely," Eliel admitted. It had been a long trek from Mos Eisley and she'd been hungrier than usual lately; a side effect, no doubt, of healing from her injuries.

Owen scowled and his emotions shifted rapidly back toward mistrust, even as he gestured to the house. "My father is already inside. Beru will take you to him. Beru," he added, loudly, "I'm going to go up to the eastern perimeter and see if I can't get those vaporators going again. I'll be home by dark."

With that, Owen Lars spun on a heel and strode off, heading for what looked to be the machinery shed.

"Please, Master Jedi, come inside," Beru called, waving her in toward the door. "You'll have to forgive Owen," she added, once Eliel had joined her, "he's already a good way down the road to becoming a curmudgeon."

It was cool in the house and the relief from the blistering heat of the day lightened Eliel's mood instantly. "He doesn't seem to like Jedi, that's for sure."

Beru frowned a moment, as if lost in an unpleasant memory, then looked up at Eliel, craning her neck back slightly. "He is very...our last encounter with a Jedi was during a difficult time. Owen is a good man, he's just a little..."

"Burdened?"

Beru nodded. "Yes."

"Well, I don't wish to take up very much of your time at all. I'd just like to have a quick word with Cliegg, if I might."

"And you are?" The question came in a deep, male voice and both women turned toward the sound.

The first thing Eliel noticed about Cliegg Lars was the echo of his missing leg. It extended almost visibly from the place in his thigh where flesh and bone should have been and hung from the edge of his hoverchair, shadowy and ghost-like. Odds were high, she thought, that he was still feeling pain from the phantom limb. A Jedi Healer could fix that by smoothing out the Force as it flowed around him. It would take several sessions to accomplish the goal but, in the end, his life aura would be complete once again. As it stood now, stuck as he was light years from the Healer Hall on Coruscant, the man would probably spend the rest of his life out of synch with himself and suffering the after-effects of such an interruption in his own energies.

"Bel Eliel Jensei," she said, bowing slightly at the waist. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Lars."

"Well, Master Jensei, was it?" He looked up at her, obviously appraising. "You have the time it takes me to eat my lunch. Then, unless you know how to fix heavy machinery, I'm afraid you'll have to leave me to my work."

"Fair enough," she smiled.

Beru lead them to a small, but cozy kitchen and saw Cliegg comfortably ensconced in a chair before turning back to Eliel and indicating that she should sit as well. "I'm afraid it's not a very fancy meal," she said, flushing slightly. "We haven't been for supplies in quite a while and the vegetable garden isn't ready to harvest just yet,"

"I'm sure that whatever you serve will be wonderful, Beru. And I'm very grateful for the hospitality," Eliel smiled at her openly, sensing the girl's unease with her relatively new role as woman of the house.

Shmi Skywalker's presence still lingered, clinging to the house and its inhabitants in almost gossamer like clumps. It was especially strong in the kitchen and that made a certain degree of sense to Eliel, as the woman no doubt spent quite a lot of time there preparing meals for her family. Sadness tarried as well, especially around Cliegg Lars. It was no wonder, Eliel thought, that Anakin had been so fixated on his mother. Even in death her nearness was soothing and light--almost tinkling like small bells in the arid breeze.

"I have a hunch," Cliegg said from across the table, "that the Jedi Council is not in need of moisture from my farm."

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"Then what brings you here, Master Jensei?"

She thought a moment, using the time it took Beru to place a plate in front of her to come up with an appropriate way of phrasing her question. "I'm wondering if you can tell me anything about the Tuskens," she said, finally.

"Animals," he growled. "Brutes. Not worth your time, unless you're planning on wiping them from the face of this planet."

"I'm not," she answered. "Jedi do not kill indiscriminately."

He set down his sandwich and gave her another appraising gaze. "Too bad," he said after a long moment. "One of those lightsabers of yours could probably do a lot of damage."

Eliel fingered the hilt of her weapon, unfamiliar as it was to her left hand. Indeed, it could do quite a bit of damage. More than Cliegg Lars could imagine. "I have reason to believe," she said carefully, leveling her voice with a very slight edge of the Force, "that your wife's abduction might not have been random. I was hoping that you might be able to give me some information about the Tuskens; to help determine if my theory is right or wrong."

Across the table, Beru fumbled her mug, clanking it loudly against her plate in unabashed shock. "What are you saying?" She asked, eyes wide.

Eliel glanced at her, then returned her gaze to Cliegg. "Every Jedi comes to a point in their training where they are at their most vulnerable. Anakin Skywalker...Anakin has been walking a very fine line, I think. And the death of his mother might be enough to push him in one direction or another."

"You think that..." Beru trailed off.

"She thinks," Cliegg interrupted, "that someone was trying to get to Anakin through Shmi."

Eliel nodded. "Perhaps, yes. It might be that her death was simply tragic, without manipulation or purpose. Anakin is a very powerful young man, though, and if someone is trying to push him in the wrong direction, we need to know about it while there is still time to prevent another tragedy."

Cliegg Lars spent a long time studying his plate, contemplating her words and trying to seal the wounds of grief that she had managed to reopen. When he had successfully stuffed his emotions back into the dark, neat corner where he'd been keeping them since his wife's death, he looked up at her, shaking his head. "I can't help you," he said. "I've told you everything I know about the Tuskens. I don't think they're smart enough to get involved in some kind of scheme with someone who wants Anakin. They'd rather kill a stranger than give him the chance to say hello."

"But they kept your wife alive," she said, regretting the words almost immediately. The man was still grieving--this was not the time to examine half-cocked theories based on images that had leaked from Anakin Skywalker's mind into her own.

Cliegg Lars rose unsteadily, leaning heavily on the table with his left hand as he motioned to Beru with his right. Immediately, the girl got to her feet and maneuvered his hoverchair for him, angling it so that he could sit down. "I've told you all I can, Jedi," he said. "I have a harvester to fix."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lars," she answered, lowering her head in genuine remorse. "I did not mean to upset you."

His response came with gruff conviction. "Anakin Skywalker belongs to the Jedi and has for ten years. He is not my concern. Beru will show you out."

"Thank you for your time," Eliel got to her feet, painfully aware of how she towered over the man. Before he'd lost the leg, he'd probably been at least as tall as she was.

He spun the chair deftly in the small space and disappeared through a side door, allowing it to bang loudly in his wake.

Eliel sighed audibly. Perhaps Obi-Wan had been correct. Maybe she should be concentrating her energies on the war at hand and on preserving the Republic in the face of insurrection. Tatooine appeared to be a dead end street. And Anakin Skywalker was not her Padawan.

"I know someone," Beru said.

"Pardon?"

"Someone who can tell you about the Tuskens," she added. "If...if anyone can help you, she can. You'll have to go to Anchorhead, though. And you'd better leave now. You don't want to be out there after dark."

Eliel offered her a smile of genuine gratitude, falling into step behind her as she lead the way to the front of the house. "Thank you, Beru."

Beru stopped, her fingers on the handle of the door. "Owen and Cliegg are very...wounded. We all feel the loss of her," she said. "If what you say is true, if someone hurt Shmi to get to her son, I can only hope that you will find them and..."

"If I find that someone is behind this," Eliel said, laying a gentle hand on her arm, "the Jedi Council will deal with them appropriately."

To her surprise, Beru bent over her hand, examining the scarred flesh of her forearm in the dim light of the hall. "You're hurt," she said.

Eliel nodded. "It's nothing."

"It's not healed yet. You should be careful."

"Thank you," she gave the girl's arm a soft squeeze. "I will."

"The woman you're looking for is called Tillea. Ask for her in Anchorhead and someone will be able to help you find her. Try the market. She's been known to trade with the Tuskens. She's the only one who ever comes back from such attempts."

Eliel squeezed her arm once more, then extricated herself from Beru's grip. "Shmi lingers here," she said. "I can feel her. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Beru offered a small shrug in return, then pulled the heavy door open, flooding the hall with a blinding light and sending the Jedi out into the searing heat of the day once more.

Eliel crossed the compound slowly, but with a small spring in her step. At last, she was getting somewhere. Anchorhead was a good distance from the Lars homestead, but every sweaty minute of the trip would be worth it if this Tillea could provide helpful information.

She had one foot in the speeder when the comm beeped insistently. Eliel glanced down at it as she settled into the seat and frowned at the orange light blinking next to the signature of the call. Obi-Wan again. And he was getting impatient.

Her fingers went to the keypad out of habit, preparing to answer his call. But Eliel checked herself and spent a long moment staring at the small screen. It beeped again, offering two shrill demands for her attention and sending a spasm of duty through her index finger. In reply, she jerked her thumb against the power button, turning the unit off entirely. Duty did not always come at the beck and call of the Jedi Order.


	3. Chapter 3

The Toothless Krayt cantina was a small establishment, tucked into a blind alley in what was arguably one of the worse sections of Anchorhead. As far as Obi-Wan could tell from initial impression, there was only one door to the place, making it an inherently dangerous spot to linger under the best of circumstances. In a spaceport filled with smugglers, thieves, and wanted men, it stood out as a particularly poor choice of places to tarry. Most people, he knew, wouldn't cross the threshold in broad daylight for a stack of credits as tall as an astromech droid. Yet there sat Eliel Jensei, comfortably ensconced at the bar and displaying her back to the patrons in what could be construed as an open invitation.

He saw her left shoulder twitch slightly and watched as she took a measured sip of her drink. She knew he was there, then. And if she were happy to see him, she would have turned around to offer a greeting or, at the very least, acknowledge his presence. Right. He lingered on the stair for a moment, his conviction wavering. There was really only one course of action, though.

Obi-Wan crossed the room quickly, ignoring the attention he drew along the way. "Master Ando gave me very explicit instructions about what I was supposed to do when I found you."

She turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"I am to hit you over the head with a large, heavy object. Then, I'm to throw you over my shoulder and return you to the Healer Hall where, I quote, 'the thick-skulled idiot belongs.'"

Eliel took the time to drain her glass and set it down gently on the bar before looking up to meet his eyes. "Good luck with that," she said.

In response, he cracked a wide grin and pulled up a stool next to her. "I told him it wouldn't work. So he sent this," Obi-Wan produced a small vial from the folds of his robes, sliding it across the bar.

Eliel wrinkled her face into an involuntary mask of disgust. "That stuff," she said, "tastes like…"

"The back end of a Gungan?"

"After six days without a bath," she nodded, taking the medicine and stashing it in the pocket of her shirt..

He tapped her on the arm lightly as she did so. "I'm to see that you drink that."

"Of course you are."

Obi-Wan caught the attention of the bartender and ordered a drink, then slipped off his robe and stashed it on a nearby stool. He pushed up his sleeves, plunked both elbows onto the bar and sighed, relieved to be out of the sun. A lot of effort could have been saved, had she simply answered any one of his calls on the comm.

"Is your comm broken?" He asked, making an attempt at an innocent tone.

Eliel shook her head. "Off."

He frowned, but managed to twist it into a smile of thanks as his drink was delivered. Three sips in, he decided to make another go at conversation. "Did you lose your robes?"

"Too hot."

"Agreed," he nodded, taking a moment to look at her clothing. Both shirt and pants were made of a lightly woven linen and were cut very similarly to the traditional Jedi apparel, but dyed a bright blue. The color was not remarkable in and of itself, but it was one of only a handful of times he'd seen her in anything other than the muted beiges and browns of the Order and, as such, was slightly jarring to his senses.

The most notable difference in her appearance, colors aside, was that her neck was exposed, affording a view of the intricate tattoos that were usually hidden from sight.

Swirling in a counter-clockwise direction, they were knit together expertly and it was nearly impossible to tell where one whorl ended and the next began. This, Eliel had once explained, was representative of the sacred belief that all members of a clan were merely part of a single entity. Individuals were given the freedom to live as they would, so long as it was never forgotten that they were part of a whole. The tribe came first on Cuan. The sentiment, he realized suddenly, ran remarkably parallel to the Jedi Code.

Even decades later, her tattoos were still somewhat hypnotic, especially when considering their symbolism. They would be a good image to meditate on and he suspected that Eliel probably did just that when taxed by her senses of duty and loyalty.

Loyalty. He'd questioned that back in the atrium.

Obi-Wan looked down suddenly, focusing on her boots. They were dusty from the streets of Anchorhead and somewhat more worn than his own, but she had not traded them for local attire. Her lightsaber hung plainly at her right hip; a clear sign that Eliel Jensei was a Jedi, no matter how she chose to fit that particular bill.

He had no right to even hint otherwise and she was well within her own rights to be furious with him for doing so.

"So," he said, going in for a third try, "what are we doing in this lovely establishment?"

She waved to the bartender, ordering another drink, then glanced at the door. "Well, I am waiting to meet someone who can tell me more about the Tuskens. You, on the other hand, seem to be Master Ando's delivery boy."

"I am here to assist you in any means you might need," he answered, perfectly mimicking the tone in which the same sentence would be delivered to a Senator, a planetary ruler, or anyone else who had requested the help of a Jedi.

The corners of her mouth threatened to turn upwards in a smile, but Eliel schooled her expression carefully. "Yoda sent you."

Obi-Wan nodded. "But I wanted to come."

"Liar."

"Madame," he answered, most sincerely, "a Jedi never lies."

She snorted in amusement.

"I **am** here to help you, Eliel," he said. "And I am sorry for what I said to you in the atrium. It was unfair. I had no right to question your loyalties. You haven't ever done anything to suggest…"

She held up a hand, silencing him. "No harm done. You didn't say anything that any number of other people don't think on a daily basis."

"That's not true," he countered. "You have been a very devoted Jedi since…"

She raised the hand a fraction higher and picked up her newly arrived drink with the other, taking a deep pull from the glass. "First of all, I'm more concerned about your Padawan than my reputation. And, secondly, can we not go over the past, please?"

Obi-Wan nodded, reaching for his drink as an excuse to buy some time. Apart from the tattoos, the only adornment Eliel wore was a silver gauntlet-like bracelet on her left wrist. The abstruse carvings were Yatirian, making it quite obvious to him that its previous owner had been her Padawan, Nerilu. Her words from the atrium came back to him, echoing in his head. _I couldn't save my student. Let me help you save yours._

The past--especially the very recent past--was an undeniably uncomfortable place for her to dwell. "The present, then," he said. "Who are we waiting for?"

"Her name is Tillea," Eliel said. "According to the locals, she's as close to an expert on the Tuskens as there is. She's also," she added, frowning, "late."

He turned on his stool, placing his back to the bar in order to get a better look at the room. "Pretty unsavory crowd," he observed, "maybe she's spooked."

"It was her idea to meet here," Eliel responded. "And, for the price she set, she could have picked another planet entirely. One with shade, even."

Obi-Wan chuckled, only mildly surprised that this Tillea had the nerve to charge a Jedi for a meeting. Things were changing in the galaxy; the lower levels of society grew ever more bold--especially on planets like Tatooine, controlled by the Hutts and poised on the Outer Rim of the Republic. Then again, he supposed, it was possible that Eliel had not made her affiliations known when arranging things. The class of people that drank in places like the Krayt often shied away from dealing with the Jedi all together.

"What do you know about her?"

She shrugged. "Just what I told you. Beru gave me her name and everyone that I brought it up with agreed that she was the one to talk to about the Tuskens."

"Beru?"

"Whitesun. Soon to be Lars. Ah," Eliel interrupted herself, "there's our girl."

He looked to the door, taking in the sight of the woman who stood there. Tillea was far younger than he'd been expecting. No older than Anakin, she was small and lightly built. Something in her stance suggested a strong sense of self-reliance, though, and she met his gaze openly, clearly unimpressed by the Jedi's appraisal.

Tillea nodded to Eliel, then struck off across the room, choosing a booth in the far corner. Her passage through the crowd solicited glares and other hostile overtures, but she ignored them blithely and any ideas of violence were quelled in the wake of the two Jedi moving to follow her.

"You didn't tell me that you kept company with Jedi," Tillea said, jerking an impolite thumb at Obi-Wan as they slid in across from her.

"You," Eliel countered with a shrug, "didn't ask." She leaned back, giving the young woman a clear view of her lightsaber.

Tillea frowned in response, but composed herself quickly.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he offered his hand across the table.

She took it and gave a polite shake. "Tillea Redsand."

Eliel reached into a pocket and produced a small pouch, sliding it across the table. "Half now. The rest when I'm satisfied."

Their companion pocketed the currency and fixed them both with an even stare. At least, Obi-Wan thought, she was polite enough to refrain from counting the cash.

"Tell us about the Tuskens," he said.

Eliel shot him a small glare that clearly stated her wish for him to be seen and not heard and Obi-Wan squirmed in his seat, looking down at the table in silent apology. She was not Anakin. This was not his mission to lead.

Tillea looked amused for a moment, but her face quickly reverted to impassivity. "How much time do you have and what do you want to know?"

"A woman was taken from one of the moisture farms," Eliel cut in smoothly. "Over a month ago."

"Skywalker," Tillea nodded. "That was one of the biggest run-ins they've had with the farmers in a long time. Years. Decades, maybe."

"We have reason to believe that Shmi Skywalker was kept alive by the Tuskens who took her," Eliel continued. "And from what we know about them, that seems unusual."

"Very," she agreed. "They don't take slaves and they don't hold for ransom."

Obi-Wan looked to Eliel, seeking permission to interrupt. She gave him a barely perceptible nod in response and he shifted his gaze across the table to the girl. "Any idea why they might have treated her differently?"

Tillea thought for a long moment, then shook her head. "No."

So much for a simple solution to the puzzle.

"Are we done here?" Tillea asked, breaking the small and somewhat awkward silence that had fallen as both Jedi worked to find another route to steer the conversation along. "Because I have things to do."

Eliel's face hardened into a clearly irritated expression and she leaned forward across the table, closing the distance between herself and the girl. "For what I am paying you, you can sit here until morning and not offer so much as a squeak of complaint."

Tillea pressed herself against the back of the booth involuntarily and Obi-Wan hid a smile behind scratching his beard. A Jedi did not always need to dip into the Force to bend someone to their will. He'd seen that same expression cross Eliel's face many times during the course of their friendship and often found it somewhat intimidating himself. For all her bravado, be it false or justified, Tillea Redsand didn't stand a chance.

Eliel held the girl's gaze solidly until Tillea turned her eyes to the surface of the table in submission. "I'm told that you trade with the Tuskens," she said, sitting back once more.

Tillea nodded, visibly relieved to be free of Eliel's scrutiny. "Sometimes, yes."

"Have you ever had contact with the band that took Shmi Skywalker?"

"No, but it wouldn't matter if I had."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

Tillea shifted her gaze from Eliel, looking him squarely in the eye. "Because their village was wiped out."

"When?"

"And," Eliel added, "how?"

The trader shrugged. "Few days ago. I can't tell you how--haven't seen it. Word travels quickly between the tribal bands, though. Whatever happened there set the whole tribe on edge when it comes to dealing with humans. Probably set me back five or six years worth of work, too."

Eliel looked to Obi-Wan, asking a silent question. He gave a slight nod in response.

"Could you take us there?" She asked.

Tillea shrugged again and held out her left palm, all traces of her previous discomfort vanished. "Sure."

He watched as Eliel produced a second pouch of currency and passed it to the woman, marveling at how self-possessed Tillea was for one so young. She might have made a good candidate for the academy, had she been found as an infant.

"There's more where that came from," she said. "You can have it on our return."

"Fair enough," Tillea got to her feet. "I have a speeder. If we leave now, we can make it back before dark."

Obi-Wan rose as well, and caught her lightly by the arm as she passed, using the contact to initiate a link between them. "Has anyone else asked you about this group of Tuskens?"

She met his gaze again solidly, giving him a good chance to examine her dark eyes. "No."

Nothing in the girl's response suggested that she was lying, but there was a small point niggling on the edge of his consciousness. A tiny blip had formed on his internal radar at her reply and he made a mental note of it. If, as Eliel postulated, someone had used the Force to manipulate the Tuskens, it was certainly possible that they had done the same to the woman who was well known for her associations with the Raiders.

****

 

Despite the fact that he loathed Tatooine with every fiber of his being, Tarc Marin had been perfectly content to follow Eliel through the streets of Mos Eisley, across the dunes to the Lars farm, and along the winding alleys of Anchorhead. It was worth the dust in his pores, the sweat down his back, and even the chafing of the coarse fabric of a hooded tunic worn in the heat of the day to conceal his face from her view.

Once, long ago, she would have been able to see through the thin disguise. She would have felt him behind her, even in the throng of the crowd in the marketplace. And she would have welcomed him. Once, he'd been one of the few people on Coruscant who knew why she wore high collars, even in the heat of summer. In light of that, he was willing to be uncomfortable and willing to linger on this miserable excuse for a planet, if only because it provided him with an altogether rare opportunity to set aside the past fifteen years of his life and pretend that she was the same woman he'd known at the Jedi temple.

Her hair, grown out now from the clipped style they'd both worn as apprentices, hung somewhat limply against her shoulders in the heat and appeared to be a shade lighter than he recalled, though he knew it was simply a trick of the light and the dust that coated everything on Tatooine. She'd filled out, too, exchanging the gangly limbs of youth for a tall and well-muscled frame indicative of a Jedi in the prime of life. Eliel was hurt, though. He could tell that just as plainly from the way she moved through the crowds--slightly hunched as if to protect a wounded torso--as from the livid and fresh scars visible on her right forearm.

He could take her in battle quite easily.

His orders were quite explicit, though, and with his mission on the desert planet seemingly complete, Tarc should, by all rights, be on his way to rendezvous with his Master. But Eliel's arrival complicated things on many levels and he'd chosen to linger on Tatooine to investigate her movements. She hated the heat and would prefer just about anything over spending voluntary time in the desert; something, he knew, must be driving her to trek hither and yon across the accursed planet.

Until Obi-Wan Kenobi showed up, Tarc had almost been able to convince himself that Eliel was on Tatooine for innocuous reasons--running an errand for Yoda, perhaps. But the arrival of a second Jedi, this one in particular, forced him to face the reality of the situation. Ever inseparable, those two. But it was no coincidence that the pair were on this planet so soon after his Master's plan had come to fruition.

He eyed them warily from a shadowy doorway deep in the maze of alleys in Anchorhead. Close as ever, they walked easily in step with one another as they followed Tillea Redsand to the maintenance bay where she kept her speeder. Kenobi's hand came up and rested briefly on Eliel's shoulder, steering her around a pile of refuse, and a scowl burst onto Tarc's lips. The word hypocrite rose in his mind and he savored it, unsure of whom the insult was actually aimed for. It didn't matter, really. Both suited the term just fine.

He had options, of course. Tarc could trail them until opportunity presented itself and attack. Odds were better than good that at least one of the Jedi would not survive. But this was neither the time for foolish action nor personal vendetta. Too much was at stake.

He would alert his Master of their presence, then. And he would return to the Tuskens, bending them to his will once again.

****

 

The Tusken camp was nestled among the dunes near a small oasis and consisted of a gathering of a dozen or so huts, all crafted from materials and fabrics that cleverly camouflaged them to a merely wandering eye. Indeed, if their guide hadn't slowed the speeder suddenly, both Obi-Wan and Eliel might have missed it all together.

"Stay close," Tillea warned as the speeder stopped and both Jedi moved to exit. "It's likely that we're being watched. They'll raid the place eventually and guards are probably set, ready to defend against marauders."

"Why wait so long?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Respect for the dead."

"Who's going to be doing the raiding? More Tuskens?" Eliel put in, clambering out onto the sand and wiping an arm across her sweaty brow.

Tillea nodded. "This band was part of a tribe. Their kin will come and clean the place out."

"Charming," Obi-Wan muttered.

Tillea shrugged. "When you live in the desert, you learn not to waste anything. I'm going to skirt the perimeter. I'll meet you on the other side."

He watched her stride away, then fell into step with Eliel as she moved toward the village. "What is it, exactly, that we're looking for, anyway?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, picking her way through a pile of tattered cloth and wood--part of a dwelling at one point, no doubt.

He wrinkled his nose, putting his hand over it instinctively as a sudden shift in the wind brought the stench of rotting flesh toward them. Eliel gagged as the stink caught in the back of her throat and the resulting coughing fit doubled her over, pain searing through her wounded chest.

"You," he stooped, offering a supportive arm, "should be on Coruscant. Not trekking across the desert half way to nowhere in the Outer Rim."

She coughed twice more, took a moment to wipe away the tears that had come to her eyes, gripped his elbow, and stood up, drawing in as deep a breath as her lungs and the smell would allow. "Mos Eisley is halfway to nowhere. This is downtown."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "She's right, you know. We are being watched. I can feel them."

Eliel nodded. "You go left, I'll take the right. We'll cover more ground."

Before he had a chance to remind her of Tillea's warning, Eliel strode off into the cluster of dwellings. He could follow, he supposed, but it would only serve to stir up an argument. And she was right, they would cover more ground separately. "Eliel!" He called, waiting for her to turn around. "I still don't know what I'm looking for!"

"Just **look** ," she shouted back.

Obi-Wan nodded, waving her off, then began to move through the ruins. There wasn't a lot to look at, really. The desert was already re-claiming the encampment, sifting sand into pits that had once borne fires and covering a host of dead bodies. Whomever had attacked these Tuskens hadn't been discriminating in their killing spree. Men, women, and children lay strewn about the village. Some had tried to fight, he discerned, but most had fled, only to be struck down as they ran.

He ducked inside one of the tents, intending to search it, but was overcome immediately with the reek of death and pulled back, gulping for fresh air. He was doubled over at the waist, resting his hands on his knees and breathing through his mouth when Eliel appeared from around the back of the tent. Her mouth and nose were covered with a strip of cloth she'd torn from her shirttail, but he could tell from the grave look in her eyes that she'd discovered something.

"What is it?"

She pulled down the cloth, frowning, and avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the sand between his boots. "You'd better come look for yourself," she said.

He followed her around the tent and across a small clearing, coming to a stop beside her near the opening to another hut. Two small bodies lay near the flap, rotting in the heat and already showing signs of advanced decomposition. Obi-Wan looked at her, confused. The whole place was strewn with corpses, what made these two so very special?

"I found something I think you two should...ohhhhh," Tillea skidded to a sudden stop at the sight of the bodies. "What kind of weapon can do **that**?"

Eliel's frown deepened, but she made no answer.

"Poor bastard's cut clean in half…"

Obi-Wan blinked against the brightness of the sand and stooped to examine the remains. Tillea was right. The Tusken had been cleaved in two diagonally from the shoulder to opposite hip. He gulped back the bile that rose suddenly in his throat.

"There's more," Eliel said. "All the bodies are..."

"What can DO that?" Tillea repeated, interrupting with a slack jaw.

Obi-Wan's head began to spin and he bent at the waist again. His gesture swept his robes aside, revealing the hilt of his lightsaber.

"That," Eliel pointed.

"No," he stood up suddenly. "You're wrong. He didn't do this."

"I didn't say that he did," Eliel answered. "But someone did. Someone who knows how to use a lightsaber. Someone capable of tremendous brutality."

"It wasn't Anakin," he said, his words punctuated by a simmering mixture of anger and repulsion.

Eliel raised both eyebrows, completely lacking words of any sort. She hoped, desperately, deeply, mightily, that he was right. Anything else was simply too terrible to contemplate.

"Who's Anakin?" Tillea asked. "And, wait...are you saying that Jedi did this?"

With a quick gesture of her left hand, Eliel reached into the Force and used it to silence the woman. "We'll speak of this later," she said.

"It can wait," Tillea repeated, her voice slightly flattened by Eliel's compulsion.

Eliel dropped her hand, satisfied that Tillea's curiosity was quelled for the moment, and their guide shook her head slightly, as if starting from a dream.

"There's something I think you should see on the other side of the village," she said.

Eliel cocked her head slightly in Obi-Wan's direction. In response, he flicked a hand and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. He needed time. Time to think. Time to breathe.

"I'll go with you," Eliel answered.

Obi-Wan watched her go in a blur of blue out of the corner of his eye, then sank to the ground and drew several shuddering breaths. Each one brought with it the smell of decay and a sense of reeling. How blind he had been. How very, very blind. And foolish to think that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, could train a Padawan like Anakin Skywalker. He'd failed. Failed Anakin. Failed the Order. Failed his own Master's dying wish to him.

Anakin had done this--wreaked this awful havoc on women and children in an act of vengeance. Anakin had lost control of his emotions and was, even now, busy indulging in them on Naboo with Senator Amidala. He needed to find his Padawan. This needed to be stopped now, before any more steps were taken down a very dangerous road.

Obi-Wan stood, intending to call for Eliel and Tillea, but he was silenced before a single word could escape as the blunt end of a Tusken staff made contact with the base of his skull. He crumpled to his knees, barely conscious and reaching for his weapon. He heard the sound of a lightsaber powering on and had a sudden surge of confidence as his fingers made contact with the cool metal of the hilt. There was a flash of bright blue in front of him and Eliel's voice rang loudly in his ears. It was followed by a sea of beige, a guttural cry, and a sudden burst of pain.

Then the world went dark.

****

 

Obi-Wan opened his left eye, then squeezed it shut again as a blinding and painful light shot into his skull. It was followed by a wave of nausea that nearly sent him puking over the side of the bed, but gentle hands eased him backwards and placed a cool cloth against his forehead.

"Easy, Master Jedi. Rest." The voice belonged to a young woman and was unfamiliar to him, but Obi-Wan obeyed, glad to indulge himself with a moment of unbridled misery.

He heard a door open and felt Eliel's sudden presence in the room. Maybe she could explain what was going on...where he was and why he was feeling like he'd just been dropped on his head from the spires of the Jedi Temple.

"Eliel," he said, opening his eye again. The light was still there, though, and his head threatened to burst from it.

"Try it now," she answered. "I've dimmed the light."

He eased his eye open slowly and searched the blessedly dim room for her form. "Where am I?"

"The Lars moisture farm."

Ah. The Lars farm. Of course. "Where's that?"

Eliel snorted out a small chuckle. "Tatooine."

Tatooine. Right.

"You have a concussion, Master Jedi," the strange voice said. "Things will make more sense when you've had time to recover."

Obi-Wan raised himself on an elbow, peering at the young woman sitting by his bed. His right eye, he deduced from the lack of vision and the throbbing pain, must be swollen shut, but he could make out the outline of her shape in the darkness. "And you are?"

"Beru Whitesun," she answered.

He tried to furrow his brow in thought, but the gesture sent more pain reverberating through his skull so he settled instead for the direct route. "And do I know you?"

Across the room, Eliel chuckled again. "Thank you, Beru. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll sit with him for a while."

He heard some rustling as they switched positions and squinted in involuntary pain as the soft click of the door shutting shot through his head like a pulse from a blaster pistol.

"Lie down," Eliel ordered, sending him backward into the pillows with a firm, but gentle shove.

"What happened?"

"The Tuskens didn't like us poking around that village," she answered. "You took a couple of good whacks to the head. It probably would have killed someone whose skull wasn't as thick as yours."

"You're not funny, you know," he answered, wincing.

She leaned forward, studying the livid bruise on his face. "So you keep reminding me. I can probably help get rid of some of the pain, if you want."

He eyed her suspiciously. Eliel was not a trained Healer, though she was rather adept at manipulating the Living Force.

"Relax," she grinned. "Ando's done it to me four times a day for the past ten days. I think I can wing it enough to let you sit up without puking out your last meal. It's either that, or we sit here in the middle of nowhere until you're well enough to fly again and the trail goes completely cold."

He held up a finger, silencing her effectively. "If I recall correctly, the Lars homestead is a good distance from the Tusken camp. We are east of nowhere, Master Jensei."

"East of nowhere, but a hell of a lot closer to it than to Anchorhead."

"All right," he sighed. "Give it a shot." Anything, **anything** had to be better than the pounding ache in his skull.

"Your confidence is under-whelming, Kenobi," she frowned. "Start by meditating. Reach into the Force and let it flow over you."

Obi-Wan lay back against the pillow, feeling somewhat awkward at the thought of sharing meditative space with her, and closed his good eye. He'd been through this process in the Healer Hall several times over the course of his life. It was the standard method of preparation for a healing treatment and, ordinarily, he could fall into a light trance quite easily. This time, though, it took quite some effort to wrestle his thoughts into submission. The pain certainly wasn't helping matters any, but it was only one of many distractions.

The confusion of events in the Tusken camp swam around in his consciousness, mingled with bits and pieces of concern for his Padawan. Added to the mix, he could feel the mixed emotions of the Lars family, safely ensconced in other rooms in the dwelling. Beru was clearly concerned for him, but the two men bristled with annoyance and suspicion, obviously far from thrilled with the notion of playing host to Jedi.

On top of it all, though, was Eliel, flickering brightly on the edge of perception. She was in pain too, he realized. No doubt the struggle with the Tuskens was more than she'd been physically ready for. He shouldn't allow her to put her own health at further risk.

"Not your call," she said, suddenly. "Just…breathe, please."

Before he could even think about protesting aloud, she placed both hands gently on his head. A small jolt accompanied the contact, but it dissipated quickly as she began to manipulate the Force around and through him. He felt his pain start to slip away and used the sensation to slip deeper into the trance, assisting her by pushing it outwards into the mesh of the Force.

Master Healers were trained to block themselves during this procedure in order to eliminate any chance that their own energies might mix with their patient's and impede the healing process. Eliel, though very skilled in using the Force, was not nearly as proficient at the task. She was trying--he could feel that--but bits and pieces slipped through, giving him small glimpses into the recesses of her self. She was in more pain than he'd originally thought and it was a thorough mixture of physical and emotional discomfort.

Nerilu Hic. The girl's image was raw and jagged in her mind, flipping back and forth between a whole, smiling Padawan and a bloody heap in the sands of the Geonosian arena. Each twist of the picture brought with it a sharp pang of fresh, stabbing grief strong enough to move him close to weeping.

Had she wept? Had she taken even one hour to mourn the girl and her own loss? Or was this whole trek to Tatooine a way of avoiding that, of focusing elsewhere with the desperate hope that it would ease the pain?

"That's enough, Eliel," he said, taking her gently by the wrists and moving her hands away.

Her eyes flew open, wide and apologetic in the dimness of the room. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It’s all right. I feel much better, actually. Give me a few hours sleep and I'll be fine."

It was the truth, too. She'd done a remarkable job for her first attempt at healing with the Force. The agony had subsided to a dull ache, and one that was perfectly manageable, at that. With some rest and a meal in him, he'd be fine to fly back to Coruscant and report what they had found to the Council.

The Council. Any relief that Obi-Wan felt from the absence of his pain flew away into the dark Tatooine night at the very thought of admitting Anakin's deeds to the Council. He had to tell them, of course. The young man was already several long strides down a very dangerous path; only intervention at the highest levels could hope to bring him back on course. Assuming, of course, that they weren't already too late for that.

"I'm going to contact Yoda and Master Windu," Eliel's words interrupted his train of thought. "It's morning on Coruscant by now. Is there anything you'd like me to…" she paused, looking down for a moment, "leave out of my report?"

"I'd appreciate it," he answered, "if you would let me tell them what we found in that village."

She bobbed her head twice in response. The news of Skywalker's transgressions was not really hers to share. "I'll tell them that we'll be returning as soon as you can fly."

"Tomorrow."

Eliel stood, letting his hands fall back to the bed as they slid from her wrists, and nodded again. "Get some sleep, Obi-Wan. Your skull's not that thick."

"Eliel," his call stopped her at the door and she turned to face him, sporting an expectant expression. There were several things he wanted to say to her, mostly about Nerilu, but something in the slight hunch of her shoulders told him that she would not be even remotely receptive to overtures of sympathy. Later, then. "Thank you. My head really does feel much better."

"You're welcome, but if you tell Master Ando that I did that," she smiled, "I'll re-concuss you myself."

****

 

They prepared to leave for Mos Eisley in the already brutal heat of early morning. It occurred to him, briefly, to wonder where Tillea had gotten off to, but Obi-Wan was quickly distracted by the ministrations of Beru Whitesun as she fussed about the two Jedi, packing water and food for their trip.

He climbed into the speeder, squinting against the brightness of the sun, and accepted yet another package from her, offering profuse thanks in return. The ache in his head was now reduced to a dull throb, but he found he could ignore it, for the most part, by focusing on just about anything else. Eliel sat next to him at the controls, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and swathed in light colored robes from head to foot. Both were obviously meant to protect her from the sun on their journey across the sea of dunes, but they were, in his opinion, slightly less than dignified.

"You look rather ridiculous," he said as she powered up the craft.

Eliel glanced over at him, smirking under the shade of her brim. "So says the man whose face is three shades of purple."

He offered a light-hearted scowl in return and waved at Beru as they sped off, leaving the Lars' farm a rippling image over the transom.

"Miserable planet," she said after a few moments. "If I never come back, it will be too soon."

Obi-Wan scanned the horizon before answering, taking in the shimmer of the sand. "It's not so bad. Rather beautiful, in a remote sort of way."

She shot him an incredulous look, clearly conveying the thought that he'd been hit very hard on the head and was not entirely in possession of his senses. "You're welcome to any and all further assignments here, then."

He chuckled in response, settling back into his seat comfortably and propping one elbow on the side of the speeder. The other hand, his left, came to rest on top of a large crate that was wedged between them. "What's this?"

Eliel spared the crate a quick glance, returning her attention to the navigational controls. "Weapons."

"Weapons?" He bent, peering closely at the container. "What sort of weapons?"

"From the village, of course."

He shook his head, confused, but quickly thought better than to repeat the action as the motion sent swirls of light dancing through his skull. "What village?"

She frowned, looking rather annoyed by his question, but it quickly faded as realization dawned across her face. "The Tusken village. You were busy being beaten on at the time, but that's what Tillea wanted to show us."

"Weapons? It doesn't make sense…"

"From Geonosis," she added. "And the Trade Federation."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot upward entirely of their own accord and Eliel looked over at him, grinning broadly.

"Told you so."

****

 

Tarc Marin bowed low before the hologram of his Master, subjugating himself willingly. His attempt to resolve the problem presented by Jedi on Tatooine had failed, greatly shaming him in the process. The Tuskens were easy to manipulate and Anakin Skywalker had behaved precisely as predicted in the face of his mother's death. Perhaps he'd grown cocky with recent success, for events at the Tusken village had certainly not panned out as he planned.

"What is it, my apprentice?" Count Dooku's image asked, regal and poised, despite the fact that it was jumping and popping due to atmospheric disturbances.

"Kenobi and Jensei have returned to Coruscant," he answered. "They have discovered the weapons and will deliver them to the Council, for certain."

Dooku scowled openly at his student. "What of your plan to kill them in the desert?"

It was difficult to manage given his height, but Tarc genuflected further before speaking. "Kenobi was wounded. But I underestimated Jensei's condition. She fought off the Tuskens and saved him."

"And the guide?"

At last, he had cause to smile. "Tillea is dead. I saw to that myself."

"At least," Dooku mused, "you have not failed completely."

His Master's words stung, but Tarc merely bobbed his head in defeat. "What are your orders, my Master? Shall I deal with the Lars family as well?"

There was a long moment of static before Dooku spoke. "No," he said. "It would only raise further suspicion. But if you have any wish to redeem yourself, you will see to it that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Eliel Jensei are dead before they can trace those weapons."

"Yes, Master."

Dooku's image extended an arm, suggesting that he was about to terminate their communication, but he paused. "One more thing, my apprentice."

"Yes, Master?"

"My order to avoid direct confrontation stands. They should never be given the opportunity to see your face unless no other option is available. Do not show yourself on Coruscant. Hire someone."

Tarc looked up, making eye contact with his Master, despite the vast stretch of space between them. "A bounty hunter, Master?"

Dooku gave a curt nod in response.

"Master, a bounty hunter is no match for trained Jedi Knights. They will make quick work of anyone stupid enough to take the job."

Dooku's face twitched in clear annoyance. "There are bounty hunters more than capable of this task. Find one."

Tarc bowed his head, forcing his own expression into blankness in an effort to mask further impudence. "Yes, Master."


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-Wan stood in the Jedi Council Room with his head bowed and feet planted slightly apart as he listened to Eliel recount their experiences on Tatooine. A brief stop in the Healer Hall had set his wounds well on the road to recovery, though Eliel refused to submit to treatment. Instead, she took advantage of the delay to clean up from the journey. Both were now dressed as befitted their station and the folds of a high collar once again covered her tattoos.

Ordinarily, they would be standing before the entire Council, but ten chairs sat empty, leaving only Masters Yoda and Windu to hear the tale. The others, no doubt, were busily attending to the details as war mustered in the galaxy. It was very likely that both Yoda and Windu had made time in a supremely busy schedule to grant them this audience.

"And these weapons you found," Mace Windu interrupted Eliel as she paused to collect her thoughts, "you're sure they were supplied by the Separatists?"

She nodded, producing a blaster from the depths of her robes and handing it to him. "Clearly Geonosian in design, Master Windu. How else would such a thing find its way to Tatooine?"

"Smugglers," he answered, giving the pistol a cursory glance. "Smugglers trading in arms."

"With the Tuskens, Master Windu?" She raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem likely."

"Perhaps the Tuskens stole the weapons," he countered. "Their presence in the village is not proof of a plot against Skywalker."

Obi-Wan could feel her mounting frustration and frowned sympathetically. "I think," he put in, "that it is too much of a coincidence that these weapons were found in the same village that Shmi Skywalker was taken to. I believe that Master Jensei is right. It seems that someone has orchestrated the death of my Padawan's mother in order to manipulate his emotions."

Mace Windu frowned openly at them. He opened his mouth to respond, but Yoda cut in smoothly.

"Good instincts you have, Jensei," he said. "Investigate this further, we should."

She bowed her head in both acknowledgement of the compliment and deference to the Master.

"There is more," Obi-Wan said, sliding the statement in before they could be dismissed.

Yoda looked up at him, huge eyes limpid with invitation, and Obi-Wan squirmed in a manner that hadn't befitted him since he was a boy. To his left, Eliel coughed lightly, sending the message that she would share the rest of the story, should he wish it. In truth, there was nothing he wanted more.

The very thought of admitting Anakin's deeds set waves of ice down his spine and swirling into his stomach. He would gladly step aside and let her relate the tale of gore and madness. But Anakin Skywalker was not her responsibility and the failures that lead to the young Jedi's actions were not Eliel's to shoulder.

"The massacre in the village…" he said quickly, before his courage left him all together and he actually allowed Eliel to handle the task, "I believe it was Anakin's doing. The damage that was done was from a lightsaber. There is no question about it."

Yoda nodded, pressing his lips together in thought. "Sensed his anguish, I have. Though guessed the extent, I had not."

"Skywalker must be brought back to the temple," Mace Windu put in evenly. "We cannot allow such a transgression to go unchecked."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan bowed his head.

"Go to Naboo, you must," Yoda added. "Deal with this we will before this war progresses."

"I will leave today, Master Yoda."

"If I might?" Eliel put in softly, raising her eyes once more.

Mace Windu leveled a hard stare her way, but waved a hand to indicate that she should speak.

"I think," she said, "that it would be wise for the Council to consider any punishment to be doled out to Skywalker very carefully. He has shown that he is unstable and unable to control himself, but he seems to remain loyal to the Order. We do not want him to rebel entirely in reaction to this."

"When in these chairs you sit," Yoda answered, "advise the Council you may, Bel Eliel Jensei."

She dropped her gaze obediently, his reprimand stinging in her ears. "Yes, Master Yoda. Forgive my insolence."

Yoda nodded, then turned his eyes to Obi-Wan, who once again felt like squirming under the weight of the Master's gaze.

"It is settled, then," Mace Windu put in. "Obi-Wan will retrieve Skywalker from Naboo and Bel Eliel will continue in her investigation of the circumstances surrounding Shmi Skywalker's death."

"Yes, Master Windu," they said, echoing one another perfectly.

Eliel turned to go, her mind already spinning with thoughts on how to proceed in her search, but Yoda's voice stopped her with one foot pointing at an awkward angle on the floor.

"Expecting you, Jensei, Master Ando is," he said. "Visit him, you will."

"Yes, Master," she nodded, hoping he did not catch the grimace that was threatening to erupt on her face.

Mace Windu watched their departure with a measured eye. He'd be lying, were he not to admit his marked interest in the pair. From their early days of friendship, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bel Eliel Jensei had stood out among their classmates. Both were curious, talented, quick to learn, and in possession of just enough reckless abandon to make them interesting. Many, many well trained, disciplined, powerful Jedi Knights came through the Academy on Coruscant--those two among them--but the combination of personality and wit between them had promised something from the start. Both, he knew, had a role to play in the future of the galaxy.

He'd even considered taking Jensei as his own Padawan at one point. Her grin was infectious and she would surely have proven a challenge, even for a Jedi of his accomplishments and stature. But, headstrong to a fault as a child, Jensei had denied herself the chance to be trained by such a prominent Jedi. In fact, she had almost guaranteed a position in the agri-corps, using her considerable talents to tend the plants and crops that fed the Jedi Order. Had it been up to him at the time, she would not be wearing the Jedi Robes now.

She'd shown much curiosity about and attachment to her origins in the galaxy from an early age, despite the fact that she'd been taken from her family a mere six solar months after her birth. As one of her instructors, Windu himself had held countless conversations with the girl, imploring her to let go of what she had never known and focus on the family that was being built for her at the Academy. Eliel, though dutifully respectful to him, simply refused to comply.

And, at the very tender yet incomparably determined age of eleven, Bel Eliel Jensei had broken into the databanks that housed information on the children who had been chosen to train to become Jedi. It was a near impossible task and surely she'd had a good deal of help from someone who was more comfortable with the technology than she was. But Jensei had accomplished it, discovering in the process that she was removed from her family on Cuan--a watery planet on the far edge of the Republic. From there, she'd stolen--"borrowed", in her own words, for aren't all the possessions of the Order to be shared, Master Windu?--a ship and navigated her way to her home world.

It took them close to three days to discover that she was missing and then another three to track her down on Cuan. By then, Jensei had learned the fate of her family--all slaughtered in a tribal war--and had participated in the Rite of Mourning in her culture. Thirty-two whorls were tattooed on her neck, one for each member of her lost tribe. An extra, spun in the opposite direction, was added at the base of her spine to mark her as the lone survivor. In the abstract, the markings were actually quite beautiful in their shades of blue and green that so closely resembled the oceans of Cuan. In the reality of the Jedi Order, though, such attachments were forbidden. Jensei was not of Cuan. She was not of a lost tribe. She was Jedi and such transgressions threatened the very fiber of the Order.

To her credit, she'd stood tall in the Council Chamber when brought before them for her punishment. She'd argued passionately against the rules of detachment, theorizing that a sense of self could only enhance a Jedi's ability to work with the Force. And she had refused to reveal the identity of her accomplice, even under telepathic probing.

He had his own theory of who that assistant had been, of course. Prior to her left turn into felonious actions, she and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been practically inseparable. It seemed only logical that the boy, who was, after all, far more skilled at manipulating the Jedi computers than she, had helped his friend in her disobedient quest. But there was no proof and, without it, he could not be punished.

Windu was stunned, as were several other members of the Council, when Yoda hadn’t banished her outright. Instead, the great Master ordered Jensei to cover her markings and continue with her studies until such a time as a Master agreed to take her as Padawan. Should she reach the age of thirteen before that happened she would, as all others, be dismissed of her duties as an apprentice and given a lesser role in the Order. Shortly after that, Jorus C'baoth had chosen the girl. A few months later, Qui-Gon Jinn had saved Kenobi from a similar, though unrelated, fate in the agri-corps.

He'd always suspected that Yoda himself had been involved with the pairings, but it was not his place to question such things.

"Well placed, those two were," Yoda said, interrupting Windu's thoughts. "As younglings, a hazardous pair they made. As Jedi, work well together, they do."

He glanced down at his friend and mentor. "She fears for Skywalker, yet the loss of her own Padawan has made her unstable. Perhaps the pairing is once again risky."

Yoda pursed his lips together, his eyes heavily lidded in thought. After a moment, he clacked his cane on the floor, moving toward his chair. "Mindful of her duties, Jensei is," he said. "She walks a slippery path, but he will keep her from falling."

"He is conflicted, too," Mace countered, following Yoda to his own seat. "He is torn between his duty to the Republic, his responsibilities to Skywalker, and his promise to Qui-Gon."

Yoda nodded, offering a show of teeth that Mace recognized as a smile. "Balance she has always brought to his perspective and balance will she continue to provide, even as her own falters."

****

Down at street level in Coco town, a good distance from the Jedi temple, a small building stood dwarfed by the towering permacrete and transparisteel structures surrounding it. Its windows, as usual, were steamed from a mixture of body heat and condensation from the kitchen and the bright paint decorating the outside was beginning to fade; victim of the pollution that filled the skies of Coruscant. A sign hung above the door. It was printed in a script that few could read, but that seemed to make little difference. Dex's diner was almost always full.

It was here, among the worn booths and circular tables, that Obi-Wan found Eliel. She was sitting at the counter, sandwiched between a hulking freighter pilot and a positively obese individual of race that he didn't recognize. Perhaps, he mused, the man was actually considered svelte among his own kind.

Both of her elbows were firmly planted on the cool surface of the counter and her legs were neatly crossed at the ankles, tucked up against the rung of her stool. The remnants of a sizeable meal sat on a plate in front of her and she was, for all he could see, staring off blankly into the space above the specials board.

He crossed the small space in a few easy strides and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, smiling broadly when she turned to face him. "Come here often?"

She snorted in response, gesturing to an empty booth near the window. "I'm going to start. He's added Alderaanian piska fish to the menu."

He motioned for her to take a seat before sliding in across from her. "Looks like you're a fan of his preparation techniques, judging by the pile of bones on your plate."

Eliel nodded. "No one can cook like Dex."

"And no one," he added, "can put together the pieces of a puzzle like Dex, either."

"Exactly," she grinned.

"And?"

Her grin fell into the beginnings of a frown and Eliel shook her head. "He's just as perplexed as we are. Suggested that we start digging through the manifests of the transport ships that were on runs that go near Tatooine."

"You don't really think whomever did it would be foolish enough to use registered transport, do you?"

She shook her head again. "Smugglers, I'm sure."

Obi-Wan frowned. "That'll be like finding a chip of silica on a beach."

"More or less," she admitted. "There has to be a trail. It's just a matter of finding it."

"My money's on Dooku," he said, bending low and pitching his voice so as to be lost in the din of the restaurant.

"Risky bet," she countered. "Dooku's only contact with Anakin has been on Geonosis, right? How could he possibly hope to recruit the boy after an introduction like that?"

He pursed his lips together in thought, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. She did have a point. "Someone closer, then? Someone that Anakin knows already? Who? How?"

"If I knew that, we wouldn't be sitting here," she answered with a small sigh.

"Your check, Jedi," the waitress droid appeared suddenly at the table. "Dex says the fish is on the house, but you still gotta pay for the Juma."

Obi-Wan swallowed a smile as Eliel reached into her robes for the credits to pay her bill. Whomever it was that was manufacturing droids these days was leaning heavy on the personality chips. When she had settled, they got to their feet in silent agreement, heading for the door.

"Aren't you supposed to be on Naboo?" Eliel asked as they stepped out into the bustle of the street.

"Yes," he nodded. "But I wanted to talk to you first. Do you have a ride back?"

"I took the Public," she answered.

He shuddered, imagining the filth and noise of the public transport speeders. Dozens of bodies, crammed into ancient and decrepit technology, weaving through the traffic lanes at rickety speed...the mere thought of it was disturbing. "I've got a speeder. I'll give you a lift."

She shrugged in assent and they struck off down the sidewalk, sticking out, he knew, like a couple of sore thumbs amidst the other pedestrian traffic. As they rounded the corner, Eliel shocked him by looping her arm through his elbow and leaning in close.

"We've got a tail," she said, speaking almost directly into his ear.

"Been with us since Dex's door," he answered. "You up for being the bait?"

She flashed him a somewhat mischievous smile in response, steering for a dank alley on the left. "Up and away with you, Kenobi," she said, jerking her chin upwards.

He scanned above their heads, taking in the network of fire escapes above, then nodded and leapt, using the Force to propel himself upwards onto the nearest platform. Below, Eliel continued on down the alley, strolling in an almost nonchalant manner with her hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of her pants. He watched as their follower rounded into the narrow space, a pulse pistol poised and ready to fire. She could sense the danger, he knew, but Obi-Wan still wanted to call out a warning.

The assailant looked up suddenly, as if alerted to the Jedi's presence and Obi-Wan ducked behind a pile of refuse. He quelled his nerves forcibly, focusing on the scene as it played out below him. She could certainly handle herself.

On the street, Eliel ducked suddenly, flattening herself against the filthy pavement of the alley as two blaster pulses whizzed by at what would have been chest level. She rolled and came to her feet in a fluid motion, lightsaber extended and deflecting more energy bolts as they came at her. He couldn't be sure from his vantage point in the dim light, but Obi-Wan thought she might actually be smiling as she charged the assailant head-long. Eliel, he recalled, had always enjoyed a good fight. She wasn't aware, though, of the second man easing out from behind a pile of trash and leveling a blaster at her unprotected back.

He dropped to the ground, ignited his weapon, and blocked three shots. The last, well aimed but expertly reflected, hit the shooter squarely in the gut, sending him to the ground with an anguished cry.

"He can't talk if he's dead, you know," Eliel called, risking a glance over her shoulder.

Obi-Wan scowled at her, then dodged to the right instinctively as a shot from the blaster whizzed by her blade, narrowly missing him. "Neither can I!"

She gave a small laugh and extended her right hand, reaching into the Force and using it to slam the would-be assassin into the permacrete wall of the alley with a sickening thud. Her lightsaber retracted and vanished into the folds of her robes in one fluid motion and before he could think to do the same, Eliel extended both hands, using the Force to pull each of the blaster pistols neatly into her palms.

He trotted over to the wounded man and bent to examine him, rising quickly. "He's no good to us."

"Funny thing about a gut wound," she answered, tossing the blasters aside.

"You know, Eliel, you can let him down now," Obi-Wan gestured to the wall where the first man was still pinned.

She frowned suddenly, genuinely confused. "I'm not keeping him there."

He crossed the alley and peered upwards, then groaned and crooked a finger, using the Force to pull the aggressor toward him. A nauseating sound accompanied the motion as the body was released from the exhaust pipe it was impaled upon. The bounty hunter, for he certainly was that by the look of his body armor, slumped to the ground at their feet, gasping out his last breaths.

Eliel swore loudly and delivered a vicious kick to the permacrete.

"Funny thing about a chest wound," he said, smirking.

She shot him a glare and bent at the waist, grabbing the man by his breastplate with one hand and yanking off his helmet with the other. "Who," she asked, leveling the weight of the Force against him, "hired you?"

It was plain by the look in his agony filled eyes that the man would talk, were he capable of it. But his lungs were filling with blood rapidly, drowning him from within.

"Who?!" She repeated, adding a brutal shake for emphasis.

Obi-Wan lay a restraining hand on her shoulder. "He's dead."

She swore again and flung the body down, thoroughly disgusted by how things had played out.

"It stands to reason," he mused, looking down at the corpse, "that whomever hired these two was the same person who traded weapons to the Tuskens."

"Well, people don't just randomly mug Jedi in alleys now, do they?" She snapped.

He sent a scowl her way that would have cowed most people--even his unruly Padawan--and folded both arms across his chest. "Yelling at me isn't going to accomplish anything, Eliel."

A wall of unchecked anger hit him squarely in the chest and Obi-Wan struggled to keep it from igniting his own emotions. He watched, mouth slightly slack, as she visibly wrestled herself under control.

After several moments of concerted effort, Eliel slumped forward slightly and drew a deep breath "You didn't deserve that," she said.

He waved a hand, dismissing the harsh words.

"Come on," she spun on a heel and stalked toward the street, robes flaring out behind her. "We'd better go report this."

He frowned, more worried than angry, and made a mental note to speak with Master Yoda about his friend. Anakin Skywalker was not the only one who appeared to be walking a fine line at the moment.

Anakin. This latest development would only further impede his rush to get to Naboo. Who knows what the boy had been up to, unsupervised with the Senator and unmindful of his oaths to control his emotional attachments.

Obi-Wan heaved a heavy sigh.

There were two bodies lying in the alley behind Dex's Diner that should be dealt with, but he had absolutely no desire to handle the task himself. There were people--employees of the Jedi Order--that would come and remove them, whisking the dead men off to a room buried in the depths of the temple. There, they would be examined for any clues that might lead back to the trail they'd been following since Tatooine. Maybe luck would prevail. Maybe one of the men would have something on him that would help determine who had hired him.

Maybe, he realized suddenly, he'd better make tracks for the speeder before Eliel left him to take the Public back.


	5. Chapter 5

Obi-Wan entered the last of his calculations into the hyperdrive computer and sat back, watching them process across the screen. When he was satisfied that all was well he swiveled in his chair, turning to face his companion.

"We have some time before we reach Naboo space," he said. "Why don't you go rest?"

Eliel spared him a somewhat sour glance, then returned to her analysis of the ship's systems. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he responded as casually as he could muster.

She refused to look at him, choosing instead to stare out the viewscreen at the streaks of light streaming by. "If one more person tells me I am not well, I swear…"

"You're **not** well, though," he countered.

True, her most recent treatment, ordered by Master Yoda himself, had done her a world of good. Eliel's complexion was closer to its normal, healthy shade than he'd seen it in days and she was moving far more freely than she had on Tatooine. But she wasn't completely healed. Not yet.

"I told you, I'm fine."

She wasn't fine, of course. Her lung capacity was still severely compromised, despite Ando's ministrations, and her right hand was weak; too weak, even, to grip the weapon that was as much a part of Eliel Jensei as her own arms. Every trip to the bacta tank brought her closer to wellness. Every potion that Ando slathered on her scarred skin loosened damaged muscles and made it easier to control her digits. Every day and every breath carried with it more strength and stamina. And every moment was tainted by the fact that she was healing while her Padawan was dead.

He frowned, but thought it better to refrain from responding. It was clear from both her tone and years of experience interacting with her that Eliel was more than done with the conversation. A change in topic was the only way to avoid a very long and very silent trip to Naboo.

"What made you decide to come?" he asked.

Obi-Wan watched as a flicker of jocundity ran across her face and he guessed that she was about to make a wise remark in reply, but Eliel swallowed the expression suddenly.

"If someone really is interested in Anakin, it seems a safe bet that a good place to find him would be somewhere in the vicinity of your Padawan," she said.

"You don't think that's a little…obvious?"

She shrugged. "If they're desperate enough to hire bounty hunters to kill two Jedi in broad daylight…"

Obi-Wan grunted, conceding the point. "Is that all?"

Eliel turned in her chair, fixing him with a curious gaze. "What else would there be?"

He spun back to the controls, affecting a need to examine the stream of data that their R4 unit had just sent. Some things were easier to say without eye contact. "When Qui-Gon died, the last place I wanted to be was in the temple."

Eliel swallowed suddenly, clearly displaying the fact that he'd struck a raw nerve. She turned back to her own display, but wound up staring blankly into the space between her body and the console. He left her alone for a few minutes, knowing that the potential for things to get ugly was very great. Finally, when he was convinced that she wasn't going to leave the cockpit all together, Obi-Wan spoke.

"Do you remember," he asked, "what you said to me about him?"

"I said a lot of things."

"You said that none of us can control the moment when another's work becomes complete."

Eliel shot a glance his way, then buried herself in a second run through of the diagnostic program for the weapons system. "It's not the same."

"It is."

She looked up sharply, allowing an edge to creep into her voice. "Qui-Gon was a grown man who lived a long and useful life. Nerilu was just a girl."

"Perhaps," he offered, still studying the viewscreen, "her work was to save you on that day."

Eliel snorted derisively. "You give my place in things entirely too much weight."

"Perhaps," he nodded, glancing over. "But you can't control the moment any more than I could."

She bent to the display once more, conveying that this conversation was over as well. This time, though, Obi-Wan was unwilling to let her steer things. He paused, gathering both his thoughts and himself, then plunged ahead.

"Do you remember what else you told me?"

She looked over, sporting a plainly hostile expression.

"You said," he continued, ignoring it just as plainly, "that I should not ignore my emotions--that I should work through them."

"I was wrong," she answered flatly.

He shook his head. "I don't agree."

Eliel sat perfectly still for quite some time and he could sense her tension. It was, in fact, practically palpable. Then, without warning, she flopped back in her chair, slouching against it wearily. "There is no emotion," she quoted, repeating words he'd heard no less than a million times. "There is only peace."

"Now who's taking the rules too seriously?" He countered with a smile.

She looked over, her face devoid of any hint of humor. "What kind of Jedi would I be if I didn't take the rules seriously? We tried that route, remember? They almost kicked me out of the Order."

Yes, he remembered. Vividly, in fact. "You, Bel Eliel Jensei, make the best kind of Jedi, I think. My Master questioned the rules--broke them, when he had to. Jorus did the same. We are not meant to be blinded by our oaths. We're neither automatons nor slaves. They didn't expel you back then and they certainly won't expel you now, not for mourning the loss of Nerilu."

A series of emotions flickered across her face, wholly tinged by guilt and running the gamut from gratitude to the very bowels of grief. Eliel looked about to speak, going so far as to open her mouth and draw in a breath, but she clapped it shut quickly and shook her head. "If I start," she said, finally, "I'm not entirely sure I could stop."

 

****

They arrived at the Naberrie lake house close to sunset and both were awestruck by the beauty of the place as they disembarked from Paddy Accu's waterspeeder. Surrounded as it was by lush forests and verdant mountains, it was easy to forget that a war was brewing outside of this paradise.

One of Senator Amidala's handmaidens met them on the dock and ushered both Obi-Wan and Eliel into the house for the evening meal. To Eliel, all of the Senator's women looked alike--a trait that was both purposeful and practical, she knew, as any one of them had to be able to act as the Senator's decoy in a dangerous situation. But Obi-Wan seemed to recognize this one, even calling her by name and making pleasant conversation as they wove their way through the house. Eliel trailed along behind silently, glad of the opportunity to get a feel of the place without interruption.

They were lead through a series of long, winding corridors, each offering tantalizing glimpses of the richness of the rooms in the house. This place, Eliel knew, was owned by Senator Amidala's family. It had been her retreat as a child and was her refuge now. It was, no doubt, eminently familiar to the Senator, much as the temple was to Eliel, and offered a kind of solace that only sprang from what was known in both body and soul.

Bringing Anakin Skywalker to such a place spoke volumes.

The journey through the house stopped, finally, in an elegant, yet cozy dining room. The Senator rose to greet them, smiling openly at Obi-Wan. Her face fell, though, when Eliel came into sight from behind him.

"You've brought company, Master Kenobi," she said, smiling graciously once more.

Ever the politician, Eliel noted.

He gave a little bow at the waist and spread the fingers of his right hand, gesturing to Eliel. "My very old friend, Bel Eliel Jensei."

The Senator's face twitched subtly at the name, telling Eliel that it was not entirely unfamiliar. "A pleasure to meet you, Master Jensei," she said.

Eliel bowed as well. "It is good of you to host us, Senator."

The Senator gestured to the table, sending one of her servants skittering away to set another place for the unexpected Jedi. "Please, sit. Have you eaten?"

Obi-Wan waited for her to take her own seat, then slid into a chair across the table. "We are both hungry," he admitted. "But I must speak with Anakin. I can't seem to raise him on the comm, do you know where he is?"

Eliel dropped into the remaining empty chair and did her best to stay out of the way as her place was set, studying the Senator all the while.

"There was a dispute in a village not far from here," she answered. "Anakin went to see if he could resolve it before it escalated to a point where we would need to bring it to the courts in Theed."

Obi-Wan's brow wrinkled in confusion as a plate was set before him and Eliel guessed his thoughts. Since when was Anakin Skywalker interested in diplomacy?

"He left early this morning," she continued. "I expect he'll be back before too long."

"Anakin seems to have taken a great interest in Naboo," Eliel put in. She offered a smile of thanks to the woman who placed a steaming plate in front of her and picked up her utensils gratefully. Obi-Wan might be hungry…she, on the other hand, was famished.

He sent a frown her way from across the table, but Eliel ignored it as she dove into her food.

"I am trying," the Senator answered, smiling once again, "to convince him that politics are not as bad as one might think."

They passed the meal in polite conversation, covering topics ranging from the weather on Naboo to the length of their journey to the pastoral planet. No one, it seemed, was willing to discuss the actual matter at hand. Eliel cleaned her plate, making a mental note to inquire about the type of meat she'd been served, then excused herself, guessing that both Obi-Wan and the Senator would prefer to converse in private.

She was escorted through the house to a room where her bag was already waiting and took some time to freshen up before wandering out onto the balcony to enjoy the evening air. The sun dropped lazily behind mist-shrouded mountains and Eliel had spent quite some time studying the reflections of Naboo's moon dancing on the surface of the lake before she felt the Senator join her.

"Master Obi-Wan tells me that you like the water."

She turned to face her companion, smiling. "I am fond of it, yes."

The Senator crossed the balcony to a spot near where Eliel stood. "You should take a swim," she said. "The lake is very warm this time of year."

Eliel offered a small nod, mostly for her own benefit. That might not be a bad idea, actually. Despite the fact that she had cleansed herself several times since returning from Tatooine, the dryness of the desert planet lingered about her. It would be good to submerse herself in liquid that was not the nutrient enriched fluid of Ando's bacta tank.

"Thank you, Senator," Eliel answered. "I may do just that."

"You should stay as long as you like, Master Jensei," she added. "We have plenty of room."

Eliel blinked, surprised that the Senator would make such an offer knowing full well that they would all be needed as the war began to escalate.

"Anakin says," she continued, "that you are on a leave of sorts--that your duties have been put on hold so that you may recover from your wounds and the loss of your Padawan."

The words, casually spoken without so much as a hint of malicious intent, sped straight to Eliel's gut and lodged there like a dart. Here, in this beautiful place of water and hills, she had almost forgotten about her wounds, her duties, and the loss of Nerilu. Here, on Naboo where the air was not choked with exhaust like the busy lanes of Coruscant or heavy with the impending doom of war, it was almost as if time had reversed itself. Nerilu could be around any corner, or down on the shore, meditating amongst the stones of the beach.

"I'm sorry, Master Jensei," the Senator said, "I did not mean to…"

Eliel shook her head, forcing a smile. "It's all right, Senator. I thank you for your offer of hospice, but I cannot accept. I am on a mission. Once that is complete, I will be sent to Alderaan to aid Viceroy Organa during the conflict."

The Senator blew out a small sigh, suggesting that she found Eliel's choice of words somewhat lacking.

"What is your mission, if I might ask?"

Eliel took a moment to study the younger woman unabashedly. She knew that the Senator was used to such blatant examinations, living as she did in a world full of agendas driven by power and politics. The Senator amazed her, in truth. At the Senator's age, Eliel had still been under the tutelage of her Master. But this girl--this woman--had nearly two decades of experience in politics. She'd been elected ruler of her people. She'd proven to be adept at tactical considerations and had more than demonstrated both bravery and grim determinism at the Battle of Geonosis.

Someone, somewhere in the galaxy was determined to lure Anakin Skywalker away from his Jedi training. Someone wanted to recruit the boy and, no doubt, take advantage of the ability and talent he possessed. Naturally, the Council would do their level best to protect Anakin, to keep him from straying any farther from the ways of the Order and the good of the Force. But it could not hurt, she thought, to have an ally in the endeavor. And this woman, this small, delicate looking creature --wise beyond her years, yet foolish enough to indulge in passions that were not suited to her station--this woman could prove to be the crux of the battle for Anakin Skywalker's loyalty. She might, in fact, be the very key to it.

Obi-Wan intended to see to it that his Padawan was kept as far from the Senator as possible, forgetting, apparently, his own experiences with illicit bonds. His intentions were true, but Eliel knew that such endeavors often backfired, cementing where dissolution was desired. The number of transmissions exchanged between them during the first years of their apprenticeships proved that easily. If there were any hope of retaining Anakin's loyalty to the Jedi Order, this woman would need to be on their side. Denying them the chance to be together would only unite the young lovers against those responsible.

"I am investigating the death of Anakin's mother," she said.

The Senator's eyes went slightly wide. "I thought that she was killed by Tuskens…"

"She was," Eliel nodded. "But there is evidence to suggest that it was not the accident that it appeared to be."

The Senator gasped openly, putting a hand to her mouth and forgetting herself for the moment. "I…how…horrible. Does Anakin know?"

"No. Or, I have not told him, at least. It may be that Obi-Wan will choose to share the information."

The Senator paced away a few steps and Eliel sensed her efforts to control her emotions. "Why would someone do that?"

"It is my belief," she answered, "that whomever is responsible is trying to push Anakin…to test his control over his emotions. And, perhaps to recruit him."

"Anakin is loyal to the Republic!"

"Of course he is," Eliel soothed. "But he is a powerful young man, Senator, and he has not yet learned to control his emotions."

The Senator looked down at the cool stone beneath their feet, avoiding Eliel's gaze. "Do you have any idea who would do such a thing?"

Eliel shook her head, clasping her hands together in front of her. Beautiful as Naboo was, the riddle of recent events was still very troubling. "No."

The Senator fell silent, but an inner struggle was evident in both her posture and facial expression. "You've come to take him back then, haven't you?" she asked, finally.

"Obi-Wan and Anakin will return to Coruscant, yes," Eliel answered. "He must be--"

"Guarded?" she cut in.

Eliel raised an eyebrow as she digested the waves of emotion rolling toward her from the Senator. Anakin Skywalker was not alone in the depths of his feelings, then. So much the better that the Senator be brought on board as an ally. "Anakin has duties to attend to," she said. "And the Council wishes to keep an eye on him, yes."

The Senator paced away again, looking suddenly childlike in her elaborate gown and Eliel found pity welling in her chest. The Senator was a powerful and influential politician but, beneath that layer of duty, she was also a young woman in love for what might very well be the first time.

"He will not be punished," Eliel hedged, hoping to allay some of her companion's fears. Anakin might indeed be disciplined. He might even be thrown out of the Order, though that was unlikely, given his skill and the treacherous road he was on. "The Council does not wish to do anything but assure that Anakin's path is the right one."

The Senator stood rock-still for a long while, then crossed the terrace quickly. She flopped down onto a bench, visibly restraining tears.

"Senator?" Eliel asked, coming to stand near her. "I know this is disturbing news, but you must trust that we are doing all we can to protect him."

"May I ask you something, Master Jensei?"

"Certainly," Eliel smiled.

The Senator answered the smile and swallowed, trying to compose her thoughts. "The Jedi Code," she began, "is it difficult to live by?"

Eliel pursed her lips in thought for a moment, then took a seat. "No more so, I think, than to live by the codes that bind people like yourself. We are both servants of the people, after all."

"But I can feel emotion," she countered. "I can fall in love. Get married. Have children, should I want to."

Eliel's face twisted a bit at the misconceptions the Senator so obviously subscribed to. True, the Jedi were not encouraged to form strong attachments. But they did not, as many assumed, lead lives of enforced celibacy. Nor were they bereft of emotional entanglements with lovers. Children, though rarely conceived with intent, were not forbidden either, though such progeny were reared in the temple more often than not.

"Jedi feel emotions. Sometimes very strongly," Eliel admitted. "The difference is that we do not allow them to rule us. Or should not, anyway."

"Like Anakin. That is the problem with him, right?"

"Anakin isn't alone in struggling to control emotion. We all do. Jedi get angry. We know happiness, too. We love, though perhaps not how you speak of it. And we grieve. Peace does not come from absence of emotion, Senator. That, in my experience, is an impossibility.

"I'm not worried about Anakin because he feels his emotions," Eliel continued, "or because he has allowed himself to be governed by them a time or two. I worry because of his abilities and his," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "his…arrogance. He is at a dangerous place in his training. He has a choice to make and I am not convinced that he fully understands it, or what is at stake."

"You should talk to him," the Senator said , eyes suddenly bright with conviction. "You should tell him that."

Eliel shook her head. "It is not my place. I am not his Master."

The Senator frowned, forcibly checking the words that rose to her lips. She clenched her teeth and bent her head, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Do you care about him?" Eliel asked, though the answer was plain.

"More than I should."

"Then you must listen to me, Senator."

Eliel took a moment to examine the depths of the Senator's eyes, searching for a hint of the resolve that she knew would be necessary in the coming days. It was there, of course. So were a great compassion and an even greater love.

She drew in a deep breath, buying herself an extra slice of time to re-think what she was about to say. Her advice would be precisely what the girl wanted to hear, but it could also easily cost her the friendship of Obi-Wan Kenobi. It might also, she knew, prove to be another stone on the path to Skywalker's ruin.

"Anakin needs you," she said. "I cannot condone your feelings for him, nor his for you, but I do understand that you are the only thing keeping him in check at the moment. Say nothing of this--least of all to Obi-Wan--and continue on the path you walk with him. Once we get him back to the temple, things will be different--safer, I hope. Until then, you must help us to keep from losing him."

The Senator blinked in shock. "What…what should I do?"

Eliel's answer was weighted with resignation and a sense of defeat, but both were lost on her companion, who chose instead to focus on the words themselves.

"Love him back."


	6. Chapter 6

There were many rooms in the Jedi Temple that were set aside for meditation. Anyone could use them at any time during the day or night. They were simply decorated, sound proofed, and often contained fountains to focus on as a means of slipping into trance. No such place existed in the lodge on Naboo.

The room she had been given was more than acceptable to Eliel Jensei, furnished as it was with plush cushions, carved wooden furniture, and stunning works of native art. Best of all, there was a giant, fluffy bed that was stacked with pillows and dressed with soft, cozy linens. It was unlike any bed she had ever slept in before and unlike any she was liable to find herself in again. By all rights, she should be deep in slumber by this hour, dreaming, perhaps, of pastoral Alderaan.

Instead, she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, focusing on her breath. The air on Naboo was sweet and soft. It flowed through her damaged lungs easily, helping to erase some of the dryness of Tatooine and soothing the emotional scars that were beginning to form.

She began her meditation as always, with a scan of her own life-imprint within the Force. Things were still out of balance, she knew. Small spires of pain still crept around the edge and threatened to betray her at any moment. The hold she had on her emotions was thin in places, allowing both anger and grief to stretch their muscles within her. Someday--someday soon, perhaps--she would deal with them. She would delve into the dark place that opened in her soul when Nerilu Hic fell in battle and she would begin to sort through things.

For now, though, there were other things to consider. A thought formed briefly in her mind and Eliel let it come, knowing from experience that striving to keep it away would delay her progression into trance more than allowing it to slip in.

 _If only Skywalker were advanced to the point in his training where he understood that emotions were not always immediate._

Indeed. If only.

Eliel dismissed the thought and focused on her breath once more, reaching into the Force to explore her surroundings. Naboo was abundant with Life. She could feel it pressing in from all directions and at all levels. Everything from the plants blooming on the terrace to the people who inhabited the house had an energy that moved through and around her, bringing a sense of solace.

Obi-Wan was a bright pulse in that web, ensconced, as he was, two rooms down. He was agitated, though. Pacing, probably. And this came as no surprise. A lot weighed on him, she knew. There would be a conflict with Anakin when he returned to the house. The boy would not want to return to his duties; would not want to leave this place of freedom and return to a life where he was not Master. Anakin would resent the close scrutiny of the Council and it would be a very fine line for his Master to walk if Obi-Wan had any hope of maintaining a rapport with his Padawan.

It wasn't fair that someone like her friend--someone with immense talent and potential of his own--had been saddled so early with a student like Anakin Skywalker. She had done her level best to talk him out of the decision, in fact. But Obi-Wan was nothing if not loyal. He would not break a promise to his Master. He would train Skywalker to the best of his abilities, even if the task ended up costing him everything. All the while, she knew, he would hold himself to near impossible standards and count every one of Anakin's failures as his own. 

Eliel's attention split suddenly as a ripple of power surged through the house.

Anakin.

Anakin Skywalker had returned from his trip and was blazing with the Force. He was flushed with the thrill of a mission accomplished without supervision and, she realized suddenly, with an overwhelmingly urgent need to see the Senator.

Compared to this, the feelings Anakin had leaked to her in the Healer Hall were nothing--mere shadows of emotion. This was strong, almost overwhelmingly so, and somewhat primal. It was clear to her that Anakin was not aware of their presence in the house. Reckless as he might be, there was no way the young man would allow his emotions to go unchecked in this manner around fellow Jedi.

She felt them come together with a jolt that forced Eliel's eyes open and sent her scrambling to her feet. This was much, much bigger than she had imagined back in the atrium on Coruscant. It was not the innocent indulgence of first love and it did not stem from the basic human need to be sexual. The scope of Anakin's feelings ran a tangled, twisted gamut between joy and obsession.

Eliel grabbed her cloak and threw it around her shoulders, not bothering to find her boots as she strode for the door. A Jedi needn't be in a trance to sense what was happening elsewhere in the house--not when it was an event of this magnitude.

"Wait!" She caught Obi-Wan by the arm as he strode past her door.

He spun, his face a mask of fury.

"Wait," she repeated in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "There isn't anything you can do about it now. This is not the time to confront him."

He shook his head angrily, pointing with his left hand. "That boy is"

"I know perfectly well what he's doing," she cut in. "And if you go in there now, you will ruin all hope of bringing him back."

"You expect me to just sit here while hewhile he--"

"No," Eliel spun on her heel, dragging him along. "I expect you to come for a walk with me so neither of us has to cope with the" she faltered, looking for an appropriate word.

"A walk?! A **walk**?!" He planted his feet, pulling back against her stubbornly. "He's busy violating everything the Order holds sacred and you want to go for a WALK?!"

Eliel sighed and seriously considered clocking him over the head with the vase sitting on a nearby table. "Feel it for a moment, Obi-Wan."

"I felt it just fine, thank you," he shot back.

She shook his elbow, gripping with all the strength her wounded hand would offer. "It's joyous. It's--"

"Wrong."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding emphatically. "It is. But it's not dangerous. Not immediately. Not unless you make it so. Take a walk with me. Please."

He scowled at her openly, then turned his gaze downward toward the thick carpeting in the hallway. "You're not wearing shoes."

"Neither," she answered, "are you."

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze to his feet. He stared at them blankly for a long moment, wondering idly how a part of his own body could feel so disconnected. The toes he saw were digging into the weave of the rug as if manifesting an anger of their very own. They were pale against the cloth and veins were beginning to appear across the top of his foot.

He wiggled a toe, just to make certain it was still under his control, then drew in a deep breath, working to calm himself. She was right, of course. Confronting Anakin about his transgressions was not the right thing to do at the moment. Emotions were running far too high on every side of the equation for there to be any hope of success.

"All right," he said, looking up at her again. 

Eliel offered a reassuring smile and tucked her elbow through his arm, steering for the nearest exit before he had the chance to reconsider his decision. The more distance they put between themselves and Anakin Skywalker, the more distractions they had outside in the night air, the better off they both would be.

They were a good way from the lodge when she finally slowed and released his arm in order to gain better balance as they climbed a pile of rocks on the beach. Eliel was all the way across to the other side and starting down the sand once more before she realized that he was no longer with her. Frowning, she turned and scanned the mass of stone. There was no sign of him.

She returned along the path and paused at the peak of the pile when he came into view; slumped inwards on himself atop a boulder near where she'd ceased to propel him forward. Eliel sighed, her heart cracking at the sight.

"I've failed," he said.

"No," she shook her head, descending rapidly toward him. Anakin was alive. He was bright and eager and vital.

"I have." 

"Failure," Eliel said, a slight edge creeping into her voice, "comes when you are standing and your Padawan is not. He's faltering, yes. But, as long as he is breathing, you have hope to change that."

Obi-Wan looked up at her and empathy flashed across his face. "You did everything you could, Eliel," he said.

She shrugged and looked down at the sand for a long moment before returning his gaze. "And you'll do everything you can."

He offered a hand and gestured to the boulder he was sitting on. "What if that isn't enough?"

Eliel gripped his fingers, drawing comfort from their familiar warmth as she settled in next to him. "None of us are perfect, my friend."

****

The following morning, Eliel was drawn from her slumber by the insistent beeping of her comm She rolled over in the massive bed and took up her wrist link, keying open communications with their ship. "Yes, Arfour?"

The droid beeped at her happily, indicating that he was finally finished with the assignment she'd given him shortly after their arrival.

"Well," she answered, rolling into a sitting position, "it certainly took you long enough."

R4 chirped at her, clearly scolding.

"Yes, yes, the databanks are over loaded and it's a long way to Coruscant. Please, Arfour, just send me the information?"

When the download was complete, Eliel scrubbed at her face sleepily and sighed. There were literally hundreds of names listed as having had contact with Dooku when he was still a member of the Jedi Order. She frowned in thought as she scrolled through them aimlessly. This would take forever unless the search parameters were narrowed.

Eliel threw back the covers and swung her feet to the floor, preparing to dress. Obi-Wan was much better at this sort of thing. He had far more patience for the type of logic computers required and was very skilled at getting them to do precisely what he asked.

Several minutes later, she found him standing on the terrace chatting companionably with one of the Senator's handmaidens--Dorme, if memory served. "I need your help," she said, offering the words as both request and salutation.

He blinked at her for a moment, taking in her somewhat disheveled appearance, then nodded. "What is it?"

Eliel held up her wrist link, which was still displaying the scrolling list of Jedi names. "I need you to help me narrow a search."

Obi-Wan excused himself and crossed to her. He took the link and moved into the shade so that they could better see the holographic display. "What are we looking for?" 

"The trail," she answered. "It's a list of all the Jedi who are connected to Dooku in some way."

"Dooku?"

Eliel shrugged. "It seemed like a logical place to start when considering who would use the Force against the Tuskens."

"I thought," he responded, smiling, "that Dooku was a risky bet."

"Maybe he's working for someone else," she countered, gesturing to the data as it scrolled before them. "Justfix it, will you?"

Obi-Wan grinned, clearly amused by her unwillingness to admit that the hunch she followed was actually his. "How do you want to narrow it?"

She raised both eyebrows, then furrowed her brow and hitched up a shoulder, demonstrating a loss. "Start with his students?"

"That's easy," he punched a couple of keys on her comm and instantly the list dwindled to a handful of names.

Eliel peered over his shoulder as they scrolled. "Amil Yosha?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Amil was Dooku's Padawan before Qui-Gon."

She pursed her lips in thought, recalling what she could about Master Yosha from the limited contact they'd had. He was a taciturn man, to put it mildly, but rumors amongst the students indicated that Yosha's personal opinions about the trappings of the Order rivaled even Qui-Gon Jinn's tendency toward the unorthodox. Rumor, she frowned suddenly, and first hand descriptions from Yosha's own Padawan at the time.

She paced away from Obi-Wan, processing both memory and the new information about Yosha's link to Dooku.

"Yosha is dead, though," Obi-Wan added without looking up from the data stream. "He caught a fever on Roga Prime and Marin couldn't get him back to the temple in time, remember?"

She nodded absently. Yes, the circumstances of Master Yosha's death were very clearly etched into Eliel's memory. His Padawan, Tarc Marin, had shared them in great detail in the days after the funeral. Marin, in fact, blamed the Council for sending them on the mission to Roga in the first place. Yosha, he insisted, was too elderly to be put at risk on such a wild planet.

"None of these names make any sense as our man," Obi-Wan said. "Most of them are dead." Obi-Wan re-keyed the search parameters, widening the scope once more. "There must be something we're missing." 

Eliel nodded in agreement and began to pace once more. "Tell me what he said to you on Geonosis again?"

"Nonsense, really," he answered, frowning. "A Sith lord in control of the Senate. Then he asked me to join his cause and root out the corruption. He said that Qui-Gon would have acted against the bureaucracy."

She snorted, disgusted by the very suggestion that Qui-Gon Jinn would leave the Order to support a group bent on secession from the Republic. Few Jedi ever left, despite personal ideological differences with the Jedi Order and Code. Most, in her experience, learned how to balance their own beliefs with those of the Council and spent their lives walking a fine, but deliberately chosen line between the two. Every once in a while, something would flare up--like Qui-Gon's wish to take Anakin Skywalker as his student--but such differences were typically quickly resolved through compromise on the part of either the Knight in question, or, in rare circumstances, the Council itself. When someone renounced the Order, it was more than a matter of almost epic proportion.

The Order was strict about teaching the names of Jedi who chose to leave. The Lost Twenty, as they were called, were often used as lessons, in fact. It was not as important, though, when a student failed before reaching the rank of Knight. Many, she knew, left the temple in shame and were cast into the galaxy to make their own way, never to be heard from or mentioned again.

Eliel stopped pacing when his boots came into view again and threw herself down on the bench next to Obi-Wan. There was something she was missing. Some small linksome miniscule piece of the puzzle that, once in place, would make everything crystal clear.

"Where do you go when looking to make allies?" She asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "To the enemies of your enemies. To like-minded people."

Like-minded people. It certainly stood to reason that if Dooku believed his former student Qui-Gon would be sympathetic to his cause, it would not be a stretch of logic for him to assume that Qui-Gon's own Padawan would be of similar opinion. It was not all together uncommon, after all, for a student to adopt his Master's ideals as his own.

Eliel blinked suddenly, the dawn of epiphany sending a tingle through her senses. A name sprang forward from her memory and with it came a twisting in her gut. She looked to Obi-Wan, afraid to voice her conclusion.

"Marin!" He exclaimed.

"Tarc," she echoed with a sigh.

Tarc Marin, a contemporary of theirs at the academy, was denied the right to take the trials after his Master's death. The Council wanted him to spend time in retreat before attempting to attain the rank of Knight, believing that, at merely nineteen, he was not prepared for the rigors of the tests. His response came in the form of bitter disappointment and anger. Three days later, Tarc left Coruscant and the Jedi Order, vowing never to return and denouncing the Council as both narrow minded and unjust.

"We need to get back," she said, heaving another sigh. Somehow, things had been far more black and white when their enemy was faceless. "The Council needs to know this."

Obi-Wan nodded and he gave her thigh a supportive squeeze before letting out a sigh of equal weight. "I need to speak with Anakin first."


	7. Chapter 7

Eliel Jensei's image flickered before him in the cockpit of his fighter and Tarc studied her intently as she spoke. A shiver of thrill ran through him. The transmitter had cost him quite a bit of money, but his contact had been correct. It could indeed de-scramble the frequencies used by the Jedi Order. He could only hear one side of the conversation at hand, but that was enough; Eliel was telling him all that was important enough to know.

"I think that it would be wise to make an effort to find Tarc Marin," she said. "I did a search of the databanks and his name comes up as having contact with Count Dooku."

Tarc sneered at her semblance. More likely Kenobi did the search, though the idea had probably been her own. Always her lap dog, that one.

"It is our belief that Tarc may have been recruited by Dooku after the death of Master Yosha…No, Master, I do not have any evidence that Count Dooku is involved. But when you take the weapons we found on Tatooine into account, it seems a likely hunch."

He winced involuntarily. Her instincts about his ties to Dooku were correct--though he'd sought out the former Jedi instead of being conscripted into service--and now that the connection was known to the Jedi Order, things would surely become more complicated. His Master would not be pleased.

He watched, puzzled, as her expression hardened and Eliel unconsciously drew herself upright. Explanation for her sudden adoption of a defensive posture came with her next words.

"I have not seen Tarc since he chose to leave the Order, Master Windu. I wouldn't have the first guess as to where to look for him, save to suggest that it's likely that he is on his way to Naboo, if turning Anakin Skywalker is his intent."

She was still doubted, then. By some, at least. Indignation surged through him on Eliel's behalf. How dare Windu hold a twenty-year old mistake against her?

Tarc shook his head suddenly, hoping to clear it of the mixed emotions swirling inside. He was not supposed to be championing Eliel Jensei. What's more, she certainly would not welcome his efforts. Not any more. No, Eliel was the enemy now and he needed to treat her as such. Learn what he could. Do what he had to. He wrestled his attention back to the transmission in time to realize that he'd missed any further conversation about himself.

"Anakin and Obi-Wan are in council at the moment," she said. "I am on my way back to our ship to make ready for departure. We will depart for Coruscant as soon as they join me."

Tarc keyed off the transmitter. He chewed his lower lip in thought, debating the merits of the plan forming in his mind. His Master would want to know this latest bit of information, but the blow might be softened if tempered with the news of the deaths of Eliel and Kenobi. Now was the time to strike--while they were separated and vulnerable.

He tapped at the keypad again, tracing the location of Eliel's transmission. When over-laid onto a holomap of Naboo, the signal showed her to be in the middle of a large lake. He frowned at the red dot for a few seconds before things became clear. Of course. She was on a boat.

Perfect.

***

Bel Eliel Jensei had vivid memories of her home world, despite the fact that she had only seen it once, many years ago. Oceans covered over ninety-five percent of the surface of the planet, leaving only three large landmasses for Cuan's inhabitants. When her ship--stolen from the launch pad on Coruscant where the Jedi kept their vessels--first broke into the atmosphere she had literally begun to weep, awestruck by the beauty of the place.

The tribes of Cuan were split into three types, each exemplifying a lifestyle dictated by the planet itself. Those of the Ocean hunted deep-sea fish and lived in gatherings of huts along the beaches. They were nomadic by nature, moving north or south with the migration of the sea life. The River tribes were more sedentary and built their villages in the lands near Cuan's major tributaries so that they might harvest the marsh grasses and vegetables for trade with those who dwelled in the Lake regions.

Eliel's own tribe, the Coimead, had been Lake dwellers before the battle that wiped them from the world. Her only memory of them consisted of a series of stone monuments standing along the shoreline of a ruined village. She remembered the smell of the water, though, and the feel of the air around the shore. She remembered the bitter taste of the draught she'd been given as part of the Mourning Ritual. And she remembered the stinging prick of the needle as it pierced her flesh repeatedly during the process of tattooing.

It was here that she tarried at the moment--somewhere between the wonder of her first sight of her home world and the pain of mourning--as the ferry sped across the water, bound for the transport station that would ultimately lead back to the ship she and Obi-Wan piloted to Naboo. The head start would give her time to prepare the ship for a swift departure. It would also give her friend a chance to have a much needed conversation with his Padawan.

The presence of a fighter registered in her consciousness as a growing malevolent spot, shattering the peace of the moment. She looked up, scanning the sky, and found its silhouette quickly. A fast moving dart on the horizon, the ship was clearly headed their way. Eliel closed her eyes and reached out with the Force, hoping to get a better sense of their potential assailant.

Tarc. His presence, familiar, yet tainted with an unknown edge, registered within her mind, sending a zap of adrenaline racing. Seeing his name on a list…suspecting him…even reporting those suspicions to the Council…all seemed surreal when faced with the certain knowledge that her former friend and lover was bearing down on the speeder with malice in his heart.

"There aren't many birds I don't know in this country," Paddy Accu said, shading his eyes to get a better view. "But I have to say that's one of them."

"That's no bird," she answered. "Turn around."

"What?" He reached for the electrobinoculars, intending to get a better look.

Before he could find them, though, she reached into the Force once more and turned the boat with a deft twist of her left hand. They heeled sharply and a plume of water shot high into the air as the engines struggled for purchase. "Back to the dock," Eliel ordered. "As fast as you can go."

The aging man nodded and began to work the controls, flooding his engines with all the power he could muster.

Eliel got up and planted a foot against the seat as she scanned upwards again and began to calculate trajectories in her head. They would not make it. The ship was gaining rapidly and bearing down. She felt, rather than saw, the pulse cannons lower near its bow and drew her lightsaber, ready to deflect what blasts she could before they were blown out of the water.

"Faster," she barked.

"This is all I've got," he shouted back, straining to be heard over the engines.

"Then we're going to get wet," she muttered as the first shots began to rain down on them.

"Wet is fine by me," he answered. "Dead is not."

Eliel was too busy to reply. She redirected twelve blasts from the cannons as the ship swooped over them and shot ahead, banking for another run. In the seconds that were offered as a breather, she jabbed at her left wrist, expecting to key her comm and call for help. Instead, she came up short against Nerilu's gauntlet and cursed.

_Always make a point of wearing your comm on your off arm._

The words of wisdom had been drilled into her head no less than a thousand times by every Jedi she'd ever studied under. Even Jocasta Nu--the Librarian, of all people--had admonished her to do so once. She'd told Nerilu the same thing.

But her off hand had changed. The wound taken on Geonosis had forced her to switch to a left-handed grip on her lightsaber and, dutifully, she'd shifted her comm to her right arm. Eliel slapped at the comm, not waiting for a response to her hail.

"Company!" she bellowed, ducking as a wave crashed over the bow. "Tarc. I'll hold him off as best I--"

Eleven more blasts were fired and she sent them skidding harmlessly aside out of pure reflex. The twelfth--fired at the last possible moment--hit the engines and sent the small boat into a series of barrel rolls across the surface of the lake.

It took a moment for Eliel to get her bearings in the water, disoriented as she was by the spinning of the craft and the force of impact, but she righted herself quickly, shucking her robes as they began to weigh her down. She surfaced with caution, searching the sky for the attacking vessel. It was nearly at the far shore, making a lazy turn back toward her in preparation for a run at the lodge itself. She had a few seconds, then.

Treading water, Eliel closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths, reaching into the Force and searching for her lightsaber. It had been flung from her grip during the crash and was, no doubt, somewhere close to the bottom of the lake by now. She found it quickly though and called the weapon to herself, sending it shooting to the surface rapidly. It sailed through the sky in a high arc, coming to rest neatly in her outstretched hand.

Eliel stashed it on her belt, drew a deep breath, and struck off for shore, swimming for all she was worth. She would never beat the fighter to the dock, but if she could manage to stay alive long enough she would be able to assist in defending the house and its inhabitants.

The ship blasted by overhead, throwing up a wake on the surface that tumbled her backwards and filled her nose with water, then slowed as shore drew near. Eliel expected a full-out bombing run of the house and was shocked greatly when the ship touched down neatly on the permacrete retaining wall.

She spit water from her mouth, slicked her hair out of her eyes, and dove, breaking the surface a few yards away already pulling hard.

****

Obi-Wan Kenobi stared at his Padawan's back, taking in everything from the cut of Anakin's tunic to the breadth of his stance. The boy was deeply uncomfortable, that much was clear. But this conversation, he knew, was only a sliver of what Anakin would face in the Council Room back on Coruscant.

"Anakin, are you listening to me?"

The answer came quickly and in a sharp-edged tone. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan paced three steps around the low table in the center of the room and sank down onto the couch. He was tired. Bone tired. Too much to process, too quickly. Too much guilt. Too much horror. But if he stopped--if he gave himself even a moment to digest what he'd discovered about his student--he might never leave the cushion again. He drew in a breath and squared his shoulders, standing once more.

"Then answer the question."

Anakin turned to face him, eyes full of anguished shame. "I don't know what happened, Master. I was with my mother. She was hurt. Dying. And then--"

His confession was interrupted by a loud squeal from Obi-Wan's comlink. The emergency hail repeated itself, then Eliel Jensei's voice cut into the room. Her words, barely audible over the sound of laser fire and a screaming engine, registered with a cold wave down Obi-Wan's spine.

She was under attack. **They** were under attack.

"Marin," Obi-Wan muttered, scowling.

"Master?"

His eye's raked across Anakin's lean frame, assessing both the boy and the situation. It was not often that Obi-Wan found himself conflicted when there was a need for action but at that moment he was uncertain of what to do. Tarc Marin had not, in all likelihood, come to forcibly take Anakin. Nor was it reasonable to assume that his target was Senator Amidala. It was far more likely that he was on Naboo to finish the failed job of the bounty hunters back in Coco town.

"Go help Eliel," Obi-Wan ordered, already heading for the door.

Anakin nodded in response, hot on his Master's heels, but checked himself suddenly. "What about Padme?"

"The Senator," Obi-Wan spun, glowering at his student, "is not the one in danger here. Go help Eliel."

Anakin nodded once more and forced himself to obey. He sprinted down the hall and Obi-Wan followed, willing to let his student guide him through the twisting halls of the house.

****

Eliel hauled herself onto the dock with a grunt and turned onto her back, taking the luxury of a moment to catch her breath. Instinct pushed her toward assisting Obi-Wan and Anakin, but both logic and duty demanded that she seek out and protect the Senator.

She rolled to her feet and turned to where the ship had landed. Anakin, no doubt, would keep an eye on the woman he loved. She had some time to examine the vessel and perhaps find another piece of the puzzle that had been eluding her since Tatooine.

The craft, basically round in shape, was unlike anything she'd ever seen before and far smaller than anything she would be personally willing to pilot. Its body was octagonal and could be no more than a few scant meters across. Curved wings flanked the one-man cockpit, echoing the arc of the sphere.

Eliel cocked her head as she circled around it, taking in detail. She was not an engineer, but as a trained pilot in her own right, she could easily appreciate the design of the craft. Light and small, it would excel at maneuvering in combat and did not, so far as she could see, require an astromech droid as a co-pilot.

"Try to kill me, will you, Tarc?" she mused aloud.

Eliel drew her lightsaber as she moved around the craft. Her thumb went instinctively to the power button, but the weapon refused to ignite. Instead, it offered three cracks and a loud sizzle, sharply reminding her that it had been completely submersed in water just a few minutes before.

She groaned and returned it to her belt, continuing in her path around the ship.

"All right, then," she muttered. "We'll do it another way."

Eliel made an easy leap onto the canopy and laid both palms flat on the metal of the hull, reaching into the Force. She probed through the ship's systems quickly and gently twisted the grid of energy that would stabilize it in flight. In the vacuum of space, her vandalism would have only a minor effect on such a well-designed craft. Combined with Naboo's gravity, though, it would render the ship wholly unmanageable--even for a pilot like Tarc Marin. If, somehow, he managed to escape from his confrontation with Obi-Wan, Tarc would crash into the water--or perhaps a mountain--the minute he gunned the engines for flight.

Eliel looked up from her efforts at sabotaging the craft in time to see Anakin Skywalker skidding to a halt on the dock.

"Master Jensei, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, dropping back to the ground and straightening her tunic. "But the ferry Captain is still in the water. Find another boat and get him back to shore."

Anakin took a moment to search the surface of the water, spotting the elderly man bobbing a good distance from them. He nodded, agreeing to her command, then looked over at Eliel.

"Who's attacking? What do they want?"

"Long story," she answered, striding toward him. "Go help the Captain."

Eliel got three strides past him before realizing that the boy had yet to move. She spun on a heel, glaring. "Is there a problem, Padawan?"

He clasped both hands behind his back and widened his stance, looking down at the permacrete of the wall beneath them. "Padme, Master Jensei. Shouldn't someone be guarding her?"

"The Senator," she answered, struggling to control her temper, "is not about to drown. Find a boat. Help the Captain. I'll take care of her."

Anakin looked as if he wanted to throw both arms around her in gratitude, but Eliel never gave him the chance. Before he could respond or question her orders again, she put her back to him, heading for the stairs that would lead to the house. She was half way to the top when the sound of lightsabers crashing in battle met her ears.

****

Obi-Wan and Tarc moved back and forth along the terrace overlooking the dock, their lightsabers shrieking with every blow and parry. There were plenty of things that they could say to one another--dozens of questions could be asked and answered--but neither spoke a word as they fought.

Obi-Wan was a patient warrior. He took his time assessing any foe during the early moments of battle. He pushed, ever so subtly, in directions that he thought might lead to weakness or mistake and he waited for opportunity to present itself. His style, developed over years of training but rooted in his early days at the academy, had always proved efficient.

 _A pattern you must set._ Master Yoda had drilled this into them during early sparring sessions. _Strike with repetition. Seek out the familiar, your opponent will. When change the pattern, you do, surprised, he will be._ Yoda's words had yet to fail him.

Two high, one low, followed by a slash at chest level, then reversed. This was the pattern he was setting. Each blow was met solidly and squarely, limiting the options of response. Once more through the routine and he would change it.

"Did you think that I forgot everything Yoda taught us when I left the Order?" Tarc asked suddenly, switching the angle of his blade mid-arc and disappearing suddenly from Obi-Wan's line of vision.

His lightsaber, moving with the force of momentum, slammed into the permacrete where Tarc had been, leaving Obi-Wan momentarily confused. He tucked and rolled with the movement, coming to his feet in time to block a blow aimed for his head. So much for being in control of the fight.

"That's always been the way with you, Tarc," he answered. "Take what you want and ignore the consequences."

Tarc Marin, former Jedi and one time friend of the man he was determined to kill, offered Obi-Wan a broad and somewhat malevolent smile in response.

From there, he began to drive backwards with a series of powerful blows. None of them, Obi-Wan knew, were meant to be anything but turned aside. The goal was to move him down the terrace and against the railing. There, hemmed in, it would not matter that they were equally matched. Whomever could get the better position would have the upper hand.

Tarc Marin had spent many hours sparring with Obi-Wan at the academy. He was well aware of the Jedi's tendency toward acrobatics in a fight and when Obi-Wan leapt into a back flip to put more distance between them, Tarc was more than ready for it. He tapped into the Force himself, pulling enough power to close the space and launch a kick in one fluid movement. His boot met the Jedi's jaw with an audible thud and sent Obi-Wan careening backwards over the balustrade.

He watched with a sneer as Obi-Wan, semi-conscious and bleeding, fell toward the water below. It was likely that the impact would put the Jedi out cold and from there it would be a simple matter of finding his body and running him through. Something whizzed upwards suddenly, though, speeding by his head with enough speed to send Tarc into a reflexive ducking motion. He turned, following the arc of the object, and saw Obi-Wan's lightsaber slap neatly into Eliel Jensei's outstretched palm.

"You forget I like the water, Tarc," she said. "Hard to drown."

He'd spent many hours sparring with Eliel as well. Moreover, he was intimately acquainted with her body and personality both. She was quick, agile, and capable of very lethal intent. She also smelled like spice fruit and was ticklish at the base of her spine. Knowledge of the last had made aiming for her on the water speeder harder than he'd expected.

"You're wounded, Eliel," he said. "I'll win."

She gave him a small shrug in response, swinging the lightsaber in a few low arcs. "Maybe. But doubtful."

Tarc began to stalk a circle, maneuvering himself away from the railing. Eliel had weaknesses--even apart from her wounds. He smiled at her, jerking his chin toward the water. "He's probably dead, you know. There are a lot of rocks down there to split a skull open on."

Eliel echoed the arc of his circle, closing the space between them slowly. "His skull's thicker than most," she answered. "And you're stalling."

Yes. He was. Orchestrating an attack by the Tuskens that might wind up in her death was one thing. Firing at a water speeder she was on was difficult, but manageable. Fighting her hand to hand, though, feeling his lightsaber slide through her flesh…that was something that Tarc Marin wasn't entirely sure he was prepared for.

"I'll make it easy for you, then," she added.

Tarc's lightsaber came up instinctively as she charged him and he met the blow squarely. Their eyes locked across the blades and he searched for a flicker of the warmth that used to greet him. Instead, Tarc found an icy mixture of disgust and anger.

That would make his job much easier indeed.

He dropped his right hand from the hilt of his weapon and slammed it into her sternum, soliciting a loud and involuntary gasp. A sweeping kick to her ankles sent Eliel racing toward the ground and he shifted his grip on the lightsaber, preparing to drive it into her body. Instead, a sharp bark of pain shot through his shins and Tarc fell; victim of a scissor-kick that brought him down with her. He landed hard on his back, somewhat dazed, and blinked up against the blueness of the Naboo sky. A second kick caught him in the gut and he rolled, watching her attempt to scramble to her feet.

Tarc caught her by the ankle and yanked with all his strength, rolling again as she crashed down on top of him. There were a series of punches and elbows jabs exchanged as they grappled, but he came out on top and pinned her neatly against the permacrete. Eliel struggled underneath him, bucking her hips in an attempt to throw his balance, but Tarc merely smirked in response. He weighed more, was stronger and, most importantly, was not wounded. She'd wear herself out before accomplishing anything.

"How'd you get the wound, Eliel?" He asked, slamming her wrists against the ground. "My Master's droid army prove too much for you on Geonosis?"

Her response came in a howl of absolute rage and Eliel threw her head upwards violently, crashing it into his nose. Tarc flung a hand up instinctively to cover his face as stars popped in his vision and he felt her twist out from underneath him. He let out a cry of pain as her boot made solid contact with his ribcage, but tucked and rolled, coming to his feet.

There was the nerve he'd been looking for earlier. Tarc used the Force to retrieve his lightsaber. There were only two people on the waterspeeder when he'd attacked. And she'd been alone on Tatooine before Kenobi arrived. "Ah," he said. "Too much for your Padawan, then. And you, no doubt, took your shot to the chest while defending her fallen form. That, Eliel, is why the Jedi discourage attachment."

Her eyes narrowed and Tarc smiled, confident that he'd been correct in his guess. He ignited his weapon. "Your first, too. What a shame."

"The shame of it was that you were stuck on Tatooine running errands for Dooku," she answered, squaring her stance. "But I suppose that speaks volumes about his faith in your ability to do battle."

Tarc let out a roar of outrage at the well-aimed barb and charged her. Not three steps later, he crumpled to the ground with a garbled cry of shock as Obi-Wan used the Force to slam a heavy stone planter into his back.

Eliel took a moment to simply enjoy the scene, then powered off Obi-Wan's lightsaber and moved to help her friend over the railing. She planted her feet as he caught her forearm in a strong grip and heaved, pulling him onto the permacrete.

"I could have handled it," she said.

Obi-Wan slicked his wet hair back from his face and pointed to the blood streaming freely from the newly reopened wounds on her right arm. "You're welcome."

In the thick of the fight, Eliel hadn't even noticed the scars being torn open again. Now that they were, though, she was certainly destined to spend more time with Master Ando. She groaned loudly, soliciting a chuckle.

He held out an open palm. "Where's Anakin? I sent him to help you."

Eliel passed back his weapon and pointed to the dock, indicating that Anakin was busy helping Paddy Accu ashore. "And, here comes the Naboo contingent," she shifted her finger back toward the house, where the Senator and a small cadre of guards emerged. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Obi-Wan took in both sights, then nodded, squatting to examine Tarc. "Did he tell you anything? Is he our missing link?"

"Dooku," she answered. "Why else would he be trying to kill us?"

He shrugged, affecting an innocent tone. "Maybe he was seeking revenge for the torrid affair that ended your relationship."

She narrowed her eyes and toed him in the thigh with her boot. "You're delusional."

"So was he." Obi-Wan stood, passing her Tarc's lightsaber. "He's unconscious, but he'll need to be restrained."

"And guarded," she agreed. "Preferably by one of us."

"My men can see to it that he is secured while your wounds are tended to," the Senator said, arriving in time to catch the tail end of their exchange.

"I'm fine," they answered, their words coming in near perfect unison.

"Bleeding is not fine," the Senator answered. "Not even for a Jedi." She pointed to the house as the guards bent to extricate Tarc from the shards of the shattered planter. "Dorme is waiting with a medkit and the sooner you are treated, the sooner you can guard this…" she trailed off, staring down at Marin with a plainly hostile expression.

Several descriptive phrases came to Eliel's mind: traitor, renegade, and bastard among them. But she chose to hold her tongue, using the excuse of Anakin's arrival as a distraction.


	8. Chapter 8

Hours later, after their wounds had been slathered with a salve that stung mightily and made the potion Ando had sent to Tatooine smell like the finest of perfumes, Eliel sat alone on the terrace where the fight had played out. It was swept clean of all remnants of the struggle and a casual observer would never know that a battle had raged in the very spot earlier. She knew, though, and the knowledge weighed heavy.

In several hours, they would be back on Coruscant; mission complete. Her part in the matter was done. She would be dispatched to Alderaan where Bail Organa would welcome her into the relative peace of his home. Her quarters--the same ones she'd shared with Master Jorus for so many years--would be waiting; comfortable and familiar, even in the clamor of war.

Obi-Wan, though...the difficult part of this mission was just beginning for him. His Padawan would be questioned at length by the Council as Masters Yoda and Windu examined Anakin's loyalty and motivations. Obi-Wan might fall subject to scrutiny himself, though it was doubtful that anything asked of him would be greater than the weight of his own guilt.

And then there was Tarc. If Anakin and Obi-Wan were about to face an unpleasant inquisition by the Council, their experiences would only pale in comparison to what awaited Tarc Marin on Coruscant. He would be stripped of all his mental defenses and probed. Every corner, every recess of his mind would be examined by the collective will of the Council. Some might call it torture--Tarc certainly would, by the end of things--and Eliel wasn't sure if she disagreed. Yoda had probed her, once. Her will had been bent and broken her willing participation was the only reason she'd come out of it with any shred of sanity. Tarc, she knew, would not be so cooperative.

She looked up and across the terrace, pulled from her thoughts by Obi-Wan's arrival. He crossed the permacrete with long strides and sat down next to her on the low bench, nearly melting into it with fatigue.

"My turn to baby sit?" She asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It's under control, for now."

"You look," she said at length, "like you could use a good sleep. I can get us back to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan sighed and ripples of weariness moved outward from him, settling into her own bones.

"He makes me tired, Eliel. I am not an old man--not yet--but he exhausts me."

She nodded sympathetically. Nerilu had been the same way. There were days, in fact, when she would have sworn on the Jedi Order itself that the energetic Padawan was physically aging her with her boundless zeal and need to question everything. And there were days like this one, when she would gladly trade everything she knew just to have the girl back among the living.

"By my count," she said, "you are merely a fraction of Master Yoda's age. Imagine how he must feel dealing with unruly apprentices."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Do you suppose Qui-Gon and Jorus felt the same?"

"Qui-Gon, for certain," she smiled.

"I shall ask your Master when next I see him," he answered, echoing the expression. "I'm sure he will have something to say on the matter."

She let an extended silence fall, using the time to watch a flock of birds wing across the lake and wondering idly how Anakin Skywalker was spending his final moments on Naboo. "How did things go? Before…"

Obi-Wan glanced over and let out a heavy sigh. "My Padawan," he said, "is very apologetic for what has happened. He regrets his actions on Tatooine and understands that the Council will seek to make sure he remains in control of himself."

Eliel gave a small nod, noting that Anakin's other transgressions had been left out of the matter entirely. She spent a long moment studying the set of her friend's shoulders before answering. He would not like what she was about to say. "I don't blame him for what he did to the Tuskens."

"What?!"

She swiveled to face him and leaned forward, arms planted across her knees. "If given the chance, I would gladly kill the man who took Nerilu from me. And you, Obi-Wan, fought and killed the one who took your Master. Do not tell me there was no thirst for vengeance there. We're not supposed to indulge our emotions, but we do. We all have moments of weakness."

"Anakin," he answered, his voice faltering, "slaughtered an entire village. There is a difference."

"Yes," she agreed. "There is. But it's only one of degree. He **wants** to do the right thing. His heart is not dark. Not yet. He needs support, not condemnation."

He met her eyes for a moment, then got to his feet abruptly and paced away a few steps. "You would have me ignore the potential danger he carries?"

Eliel shook her head emphatically. "No. Absolutely not. But he is still with you, Obi-Wan. Do not treat him as if he's already lost."

Obi-Wan put his back to her, digesting her words. She, of all people, knew what it was like to have your Padawan slip away--taken from under your very nose by circumstances outside of your control. She was on his side, as she'd always been and as she always would be.

He should thank her for that. And he should thank her for her insight into Anakin's mental state, for insisting that the boy might be victim as well as aggressor. For insisting that Anakin, above all else, was worth saving. But he couldn't. Words simply refused to form through the tight knots of guilt and anger and Obi-Wan seized the arrival of Tarc Marin and his escort as a worthy distraction.

He scowled, studying Marin as he struggled against the ministrations of Senator Amidala's guards. There were four of them, well-armed and trained for such tasks, and all were working hard to control their prisoner. Anakin was with them, acting as a last line of defense should Marin escape, but he and Eliel should be down on the dock as well.

"He's not going to go quietly, you know," Eliel said.

"I don't suppose you have any Nyex on you?"

She made a show of patting her pockets, then shook her head. "Fresh out. There should be some in the medkit on the ship, though."

He nodded. Nyex was standard-issue in medkits, but there would not be nearly enough aboard their ship to keep Marin sedated all the way to Coruscant.

Eliel touched him lightly on the elbow and pointed to the stairs, falling in step as they started the descent toward the waterspeeder.

"I could always smash him on the head with something heavy every hour or so," she offered, making an attempt at a light tone.

He stopped, one foot on a lower stair, and turned toward her. "I think you'd enjoy that entirely too much for someone who is supposed to be in control of her emotions."

Eliel shrugged, motioning him forward. "I don't hate him, you know."

"No?"

She shook her head. "The opposite of love is not hate. It's indifference."

"You don't seem very indifferent, Eliel."

She stopped at the foot of the stairwell and sighed. "I'll detach when he's in custody in the temple and we're all still alive. Until then, I think hostility might just give me an edge."

Obi-Wan snorted out a small laugh, but his amusement was quelled by the small ruckus unfolding at the speeder. Two of the four guards splashed headlong into the water and a third went tumbling backwards on the dock as Marin made a break for freedom. He moved to intercept, but Anakin brought the situation under control quickly by grabbing Marin by the throat as he passed. Obi-Wan watched, startled, as his Padawan's mechanical fingers squeezed and Marin flailed wildly, gasping for breath and toeing at the dock.

"Anakin!" He called. "That's enough!"

Anakin turned and raked them with a wide-eyed gaze, seemingly startled by their presence on the dock. He nodded once, curtly, and let go. "Yes, Master."

Tarc Marin sank to his knees and doubled over, coughing.

Eliel sidestepped and skirted around Obi-Wan, but he caught a glimpse of her expression as she passed. It was difficult to tell from this angle, but she looked to be a mixture of shocked and entertained. So much for indifference. He drew in a deep breath and ran through a counting exercise in his head, then squared his shoulders and strode toward the speeder. It was going to be a long trip.

****

Eliel felt a small jounce in the rhythm of her trance as Obi-Wan settled in next to her. From across the small chamber, Tarc Marin snarled and his disdain rippled toward them, palpable even through his sedation. She clenched her teeth and sent another band of restraint twisting around his consciousness. It would not do for him to gain even a hint of control while they were trading shifts.

Tarc answered with another snarling wave of hostility and Eliel twitched, surprised by the strength of it and by the depth of his hatred for her. She should have expected nothing less from him, given the circumstances of recent events, but this was old malice. It was deep and well-tended and sprung from a place within him that was not foreign to her.

It wasn't about Anakin Skywalker, or Tarc's new Master. It wasn't about the battle they'd just fought on Naboo. It was about betrayal--about her choice to remain in the Order during his self-exile. And it was about the man sitting to her left.

_Fool. Nothing between us. Not then. Not now._

Her thought was not aimed at him, but Tarc's answer pounded into Eliel's skull and reverberated there. It was a tangled mix of words and raw slices of anger and hurt: Liar. Traitor. He was always first.

Her own emotions welled in response to the accusations, but Eliel felt Obi-Wan snap yet another layer of restraint onto their prisoner. Tarc's voice left her head, but his emotions still seethed, pushing and testing the boundaries of the barrier Obi-Wan had erected. She waited a few moments, making certain that he had the situation in hand, then released herself from the trance and opened her eyes.

Eliel stretched and plucked at the fabric of her tunic. The small of her back was drenched with sweat from the effort of mentally controlling Tarc. Next to her, Obi-Wan was already frowning intently. She glanced at her comlink, checking the time. There were still three hours of travel before they'd be home. He'd relieved her early. That was probably a good thing.

Under the best of circumstances, exerting mental control over someone who was strong willed was a taxing endeavor. Tarc was trained as a Jedi and had further refined his skill in the years since he'd left the temple. Even sedated, it took a great deal of concerted effort to restrain him--to ignore the suggestions and taunts he flung in retaliation. Her neck ached from the two hours she'd spent in trance and Eliel could feel a dull throbbing settling into her skull behind her eyes.

More than that, though, she felt unclean. Once, she'd shared meditative space with Tarc willingly and the experiences had always left her with a sensation of safety and belonging. None of that was present now. His mind was dark, his emotions darker, and his essence slithered around inside her own, tainted with the darker side of the Force. He had the same sandy hair and soft, almost boyish feature, the same hands and the same green eyes, but this was not the Tarc Marin she knew.

Eliel shivered and got to her feet abruptly. She crossed the small room and stooped over Tarc's inert form, peering at the readout on the medscreen. His body was metabolizing the Nyex quickly and she wondered if he was somehow physically manifesting his mental resistance to the drug. No matter. She reached into her pocket and produced an injector, administering a second dose.

Tarc's muscles relaxed almost immediately and Eliel gave a small smirk of satisfaction as turned from him. Obi-Wan's frown, she noted on her way to the door, had already lessened somewhat. It was the least she could do.

****

Anakin sat alone in the cockpit of their ship, his hands limp against his thighs. The hyperdrive computer was controlling things and had been for almost two hours, but he was reluctant to leave the controls. His Master had been very clear about the fact that Anakin would not be taking a turn at mentally restraining their captive and, although slightly relieved by this, he could not help but feel somewhat impotent.

Too much time to think, not enough to do. He almost wished that something would go wrong--if only to distract him. It could only be easier to fight than it was to wrestle with what had come to pass and what was still to come.

He sighed and bent to study the readouts on the navscreen. They were, naturally, on course and were making good time. In three hours he would be back on Coruscant. In three hours his life would change yet again. In three hours, he might no longer be a Jedi.

A rumble in the Force told Anakin that Master Jensei had left her trance and was moving about the ship. He took a moment to probe her gently, trying to get a feel for her mood. She was tired--exhausted, even--but did not seem closed to the idea of company. He pushed back from the console and got to his feet, heading for the ship's lounge.

Anakin paused inside the doorway and stood there for a long moment, silent and still unsure of whether he wanted to disturb her. He waited for a few more breaths, then coughed politely, smiling when she took notice.

"Master Obi-Wan told me that your lightsaber is damaged. I can take a look at it, if you want."

She nodded gratefully and produced the weapon from her belt, passing it to him. "It's shorted out."

Anakin took it and moved to the small table across from her. He sat down and bent over to study the weapon, sliding open the cover. It took a few minutes of fiddling, but he managed to determine the source of the failure. Once identified, Anakin made quick work of the problem, passing it back to her with a big smile.

"Easy," he said.

Jensei powered it on for a moment, admiring his handiwork, then slid the weapon back to its resting place at her side. "Thank you, Anakin."

He offered a dismissive shrug in reply. "You're welcome."

They fell silent, but Anakin could feel her taking stock of him. He was used to it. Everyone assessed him and had done so since the moment he met Qui-Gon Jinn in Watto's shop. Everyone probed him, searching for cracks in his psyche and weaknesses in his ability. Everyone but Padme, of course.

Something was different with Jensei, though. Her gaze did not carry the weight of other Jedi. She was not looking for a way to break him down. She was not skimming the surface of his thoughts in search of darkness. The contrast made him slightly nervous and Anakin got up suddenly, pacing to the window.

Bel Eliel Jensei had been the first person to welcome him to the temple all those years ago. In a time of uncertainty and grief for what he'd left behind on Tatooine, she'd plucked him from the darkness of his room and spirited him off on an illicit quest for honeycake. She was not his friend, he knew. Her bond was with his Master and it was Obi-Wan she was actually there to comfort in the days following the death of Qui-Gon Jinn. But she'd always been kind to him, even in the face of how poorly he'd treated her Padawan during the few times they'd interacted while the girl was alive.

"You are very lucky, Anakin Skywalker."

Luck, Anakin thought, had abandoned him somewhere in the alleys of the slaves' section of Mos Espa. Luck, he knew, had certainly not been present when his Mother died in his arms. Luck, Master Yoda insisted, did not exist.

"You know who named you," she continued. "You know that you were loved by the one who bore you. You have memories of your mother's face and you know what it is to live among people who are like you in ways that do not involve the Force, duty, or the Jedi Code. You, Anakin, know where you came from. You have roots that the rest of us lack utterly."

He stood a moment, digesting her words and wondering if his life might have been different, had Master Jensei taken him as Padawan. She seemed, in his somewhat colored opinion, to be the embodiment of everything that his own Master lacked. She did not scold, was not prone to irritability, and she spoke to him as a peer. Obi-Wan never did that. To him, Anakin was nothing but an insolent boy. Jensei, though...Jensei understood that living by the Jedi Code was more than a matter of reciting it ad nauseam. Jensei understood that emotions could not always be controlled. Jensei, he wagered, would also understand the need to act on them.

"Master Obi-Wan might disagree that roots are anything but binding," he said, finally.

"He believes," she answered, "that the Jedi are all the family we need."

"And you, Master Jensei?" Anakin turned suddenly, his stance broad and somewhat challenging. "What do you believe?"

"The Jedi are my only family," she answered. "And, now, they are your only family as well."

Anakin frowned, trying to work through her sudden shift. "But what about roots?"

Master Jensei stood, heading for the cockpit. "Roots," she said, "are merely a starting point, Anakin. It's where you go from there that matters."


End file.
